In The Rain
by out.of.sea.into.woods
Summary: When Eponine wakes up in the care of a strange American physician, she believes life has given her a second chances to be with Marius. And now she will stop at nothing to find him. With the help of her new, foreign friend, she will search the world for Marius, even when it seems her second chance is leading her down another path.
1. Chapter 1

**I don't own Les Miserables.**

CHAPTER 1

Marius is holding me, his arms are warm. But the feeling of them, pressed against me through sodden clothes, it slowly fades. His hand strokes my cheeks, but I can barely feel them. The warm blood that once gushed from me has now settled into a trickle. He's speaking to me, Marius, but his words turn into colors that are soft and muted. I think the men of the barricade have stopped and are all staring at us, at me, as the life runs out from me.

_What does a girl have to do to get some privacy to die_, I think, able to muster a little bit of sarcasm in my last moments.

I think it's raining, but it doesn't matter. All that matters is that I'm with Marius, and he's with me. I close my eyes and I give way to the dizzying blackness that calls my name and seems to have a voice that sounds surprisingly like Marius.

In a blur of a moment, I open my eyes to hazy gray. My blood has been replaced by lead and I can't move, I'm so weak, and I just need to go to sleep. Please, I just want to die already, please.

Before I slip away again, someone says in a strange accent, "Hold on, sweetheart. It's gonna be okay. I've-"

When I wake up again, I'm lying in a lumpy bed, covered by a thin blanket, itchy cloth over my shoulder. I try to sit up, but I can barely move. I can't even more my head from side to side. I think about calling for help, but I can't muster the strength to open my mouth. In the end, I stare at the ceiling, memorizing the cracks and how they run. A window is open somewhere near. I hear the sounds of a busy street. I hear steps but just keeping my eyes open for all this time is an effort and I'm asleep before I can see who's coming.

When I wake again, there is a fire built in a small hearth in the corner of the room and someone is stopped over it. I try to sit up, but can't muster the strength and gasp from pain. The person stands and rushes over to me. It's a man, a few years my elder, with hazel eyes and messy dark blonde hair.

"So the sleeping beauty wakes." He says in that strange accent.

"W-Who are you?" I stammer.

"Cameron Russel. American physician. You're one lucky girl. They must've been so sure you were dead, they left you for the body collector. But not everyone is a Cameron. Managed to pull you out of the muck, pull out that bullet, and patch you up. Still, wouldn't have made a difference if you're little heart didn't keep beating like it did. I must say, Miss... Miss..."

"Eponine." My name feels jumbled and weird in my mouth.

"Miss Eponine. I must say that you're a fighter if I've ever seen one, even for a women."

I roll my eyes, allowing myself lay back down in the old bed. A thin layer of warmth has rested around me and I let myself indulge in its sweet embrace. Cameron disappears for a moment and reappears, holding a wooden bowl, its contents steaming. I don't hesitate, I cram as much of the warm soup as I can into my mouth, so fast that I barely taste it. Cameron goes on talking, about the weather, about how miraculously strong my heart is. It's comforting, his babble, it brings me back down to earth. Until...

"Wait," I say. "What was that?"

"Oh, the revolutionaries." He says. "It was about a week ago that they started that whole ruckus, I believe, at the funeral of some politician, a Lamarque fellow. Nasty business, all of them were slaughtered by the military. I'm a little surprised you don't know about it, considering-"

"Wait!" I shout, stopping him mid-sentence. "All of them? Every single one of them is... Is dead?"

"Y-Yes." Cameron says hesitantly. "I believe so. Why?"

But I can't find the strength in me to form sentences. I can't find the strength to hold onto the bowl, so I let that drop onto the floor. I lay myself back down onto the bed, curl up into myself, and begin to weep. Enjolras, Combeferre, Feuilly... Each of them is gone. But none of this compares with the explosion in my chest that is Marius. It was enough to die in his arms, only to be revived by some strange American doctor, but now, now... Now life has taken Marius out of the world. Marius, the only one who was truly good, who truly has some light in him.

He is gone. And I don't know if I can forgive the world for that.

I begin shaking and then I feel Cameron's hands on me, his voice saying, "Eponine, Eponine, let go! You're tearing your bandages. You must let them be, or you'll never heal."

_I never want to heal_, I think fiercely as hot tears pour leaves filmy tracks down my cheeks. _I never want to live again. You took that from me, Monsieur Cameron. I chose to die. And now, even that choice has been stolen from me._


	2. Chapter 2

**I don't own Les Miserables.**

CHAPTER 2

"You must go slowly." Cameron says, placing his hands gently on my back and shoulder with the delicate care of a doctor.

"Thank you for your help, monsieur." I push away his hands firmly, the muscles in my shoulder screaming in protest. But I bear through it. "But I can no longer intrude on your hospitality."

"Please, I insist that-"

"Stop it!" I push him back with all of my meager strength. "Stop it, right now! I am leaving here and you _can't _stop me!" I try to stand, but I waver and Cameron holds me up by the elbow. I try and tear it from him, but I can't find the strength.

"You can't even stand on your own two feet. And you expect me to let you wander the streets of Paris, all alone?"

"I know my way around." I retort.

"No, this won't do. I will have to escort you." He stands and smiles simply.

"What are you talking about?"

"I'm talking about you having yourself a partner in... Whatever it is that is in so urgent need that you must see to it in such condition as yours."

"Don't be serious." I tear my arm from his grip, finally finding my balance. "Why should I go anywhere with you?"

"Because _I_," He leans in close to my face. "Am a doctor."

I roll my eyes but allow myself to consider what he says. I can barely walk. Maybe having someone to watch out for me wouldn't be such a bad idea.

"If you slow me down," I growl. "You're left behind, got it?"

Cameron's eyes light up. "Thank you, mademoiselle. You won't be sorry."

_I'm already sorry_, I roll my eyes and shuffle out the door, Cameron close behind.

The streets of Paris are as dirty and bustling as ever. Beggars, whores, thieves, nothing has changed. Only the glint in a man's eye there, or the frown on a women's painted face here makes me think something is amiss.

"Where to?" Cameron says, his exuberant voice loud and booming. Strangers stare, some snickering.

_Stupid Americans_, I allow myself to think. I don't say anything, just start walking towards the cafe with as little of a limp as I can. Cameron trails behind, asking random questions about everything. Did anyone ever clean the outside of their homes in the city? Where did the rich keep their horses? How were the school in Paris? In a way, I'm glad for his chattiness. It allows me time to forget my pain, in only for a little while.

The ABC cafe almost looks the same. Same, defiant aged wood exterior, same warm feeling that permeates the surrounding stone. Bits and pieces of the barricade can be spotted here and there. A broken chair, the scattered keys of a smashed piano. No one is out, at least, no one I know. And right now, I'm only looking for one person.

I step into the cafe and my voice bubbles out of my throat. "Annette!" The short, stout women who runs the cafe looks like she's seen a ghost, almost dropping her entire tray of drinks. Which is partly true. Her ruddy face falls slack and no words find their way out of her mouth as I approach. She steps forward, holding my arms, completely detached from the noise of the cafe.

"Annette, Annette." I find myself tearing up, but I don't know why so I don't permit myself to cry.

"Eponine..." Her voice is like her face: scared. "You're... You're alive."

"I know. I know. I'm alive." I find my voice tumbling out stupidly and suddenly, Annette has me in a hug that sends screams through my shoulder but soothes my heart. I grip her fat body tight, allowing myself three seconds to indulge in her care. I pull back and she is crying profusely.

"Eponine, oh, Eponine, it was awful." Her face is all red and torn up with anguish. "Everyone of them, every single one, killed. Slaughtered till their blood ran red, stained the streets, took days to wash off. Eponine, their voices, they kept crying out and they were so..." She brings her hand to her face. "They were so brave."

My heart is beating fast and the sorrow buried deep inside me threatens to burst out of the thin cage I've trapped it in. But I swallow it down and say, "Everyone? Every student was killed?"

She nods. "Even Gavroche wasn't spared."

Gavroche, little spunky Gavroche, dead, lying next to every single student slain. Enjolras, his stern face so full of hope. Marius, Marius... And the line leads to me. I can barely keep my grief at bay, I am gripping Annette so hard that I must be causing her pain, but she says nothing.

"Where..." My voice is breathless. "Where did they take Marius? His... His body, where did they take it?"

"Marius.' She thinks for a moment, long enough for the smallest spark of hope burst in her face. "Marius... They didn't. They didn't take him."

"What are you talking about?" Surely his rich uncle would give him a proper burial, no matter how revolutionary he was. I just need to see his grave, I just need to say one more goodbye. That's what I need...

"They didn't take his body, because it wasn't there." Annette said, her voice getting faster. "He wasn't there. They told everyone that every revolutionary was killed, but Marius, his body was _not _at the barricade."

"That means-"

"Now wait," Cameron interjects suddenly. "That doesn't mean a thing. Maybe they picked his body up early, maybe it got into the sewers."

"Who are you?" Annette asks sharply.

"I'm a doctor." Cameron defends himself. "I'm taking care of Mademoiselle Eponine."

"Well then," Annette nods. "You two can take a seat and have a drink. On the house." She turns away.

"Annette!" I grab her arm. "Are you sure? Are you positive? Are you sure he wasn't-"

"Listen girl," She pulls me in close and whispers in my ear. "I can tell you that he wasn't there and that's all because that's all I know. That doctor man is right, it doesn't mean a thing. Don't go doing something crazy because of it, alright?" I nod absently and she pats my cheek sweetly.

Cameron pulls out a chair and helps me sit. I'm too numb to notice the chivalry. Annette brings over two glasses of cheap wine, but I don't touch my glass.

Marius could be alive. He could be alive. He could be alive.

I realize that hope is one of the most dangerous things ever.

Because, if Marius is alive, he'll find that Cosette is gone, across the sea to England. He'll be alone and he'll need someone. I remember the vivid sight of his face over me, the warm sensation of his arms around me. His loving words washing over me and the darkness took over. Surely, surely he would be with me now, surely he would see that was were out paths led.

Cameron takes a sip out of his glass then asks, "Now what, Mademoiselle?"

"Now," I say firmly. "We find Marius."


	3. Chapter 3

**I don't own Les Miserables.**

CHAPTER 3

I didn't like the idea of bumping into a bunch of strangers, but I still trudged on through the streets. Cameron seemed a little starstruck, his eyes huge as they try and catch every detail of the dirty buildings. I don't know what's so fascinating, with every stone looking tired and worn down, but maybe they don't have those is America.

"Where did you say you were from?" I ask over my shoulder.

"I didn't." I look back to glare at him and see him gazing sweetly at the clouds in the sky. I begin to understand that beneath his sugary child-like demeanor, Cameron has a lot more formidable qualities hidden.

We zigzag through the labyrinth of streets, never once stopping for directions. We end up in a small square where a few streets intersect. I see a beggar man talking to a well-dressed couple.

"Please, good Monsieur." The beggar says in a high, whiny voice. "This child hasn't eaten in three days!" He pulls back a tattered curtain, letting high pitched baby shrieks spill out on the street. Spare some money for the poor baby." The couple, with faces full of pity, drop a few coins into the man's hand before walking away quickly, probably hurrying to get out of the rough part of the city.

I come up behind the beggar man, who's greedily counting each coin. "Still using that same scam." I say dryly. "I thought you'd have more creativity."

The man turns and his beady eyes narrow. "Oi, what do you want, hussy?"

"Papa, it's me." My voice is so tired and I can't help but roll my eyes.

His eyes search my face for a moment, before a flash of recognition lights them up. "Eponine..." He says, breathless for a moment, then hardening instantly. "What are you doing here? We heard you were dead!"

"Who's that your talking to?" My mother's voice was piercing. "It better not be that whore Marie again!" Her head pops out from behind the curtain, her eyes huge in her starving face. One glance at my face and they light up. "Eponine!" Her bony arms wrap around me suddenly, her wet face pressing into my shoulder. I wince in pain, but allow her a moment before I push her away.

"Hello, Mother." I say softly.

"How are you here?" She asks fervently, her voice high and annoying. "How are you alive? You never came back to the inn and we all assumed, we assumed you had been killed!"

"Yes, I almost had been." I say. "But this man rescued me." I gesture to Cameron. "This is Monsieur Russel. He-"

"Thank you, my good man." My father cuts me off grandly. "For saving my daughter. _But_ don't expect compensation."

"Father-"

"Don't talk back to me, Missy!" His slap comes quick and stinging and I tumble backwards, only to be caught in Cameron's steady arms. Father gets close to me, his face inches from mine. "I haven't forgotten about the trouble you've brought to me." It takes me a moment to realize he's talking about me stopping him from robbing Cosette's home. It seems like lifetimes ago. Father grabs my hurt shoulder, squeezing so tight that I scream, high pitched and so soft, because he terrifies me. "So you listen to me-"

"Oh, look!" Cameron says brightly. "There's an inspector. I wonder if he could help me find a good inn. Wouldn't that be nice?" He smiles brightly to my parents.

At first, Cameron's words seem meaningless. Then, the underlying threat of the police sinks into our minds. My father is many things, but he isn't stupid. He glares at Cameron for a long second, then steps away from me. He turns around, pulls back the curtain, and shouts, "We're going home!" He turns back around to give us one last glare before trudging off. "Come on, then!" He shouts back at us. Mother gathers her tattered skirt up and hurries along after him.

"You parents are quite something." Cameron comments, laughing a little. I don't know what to think of that. I rub my shoulder, still throbbing a little. Maybe my parents are funny from the outside, but I knew that there was nothing funny about their abuses.

"I have to go." I say to him.

"With them?" He looks so confused. "No! They can't keep you safe!"

"And neither can you." I counter. He tightens his lips.

"At least let's plan to meet again." He begs. "Just so I can check your shoulder." I roll my eyes. This man, why does he care so much? What does he want to get from me? But something deep inside tells me to listen. Maybe he'll come in handy one of these days.

"In three days." I say. "The cafe. Noon."

He nods eagerly. "Until then." He bows slightly and I smile at his manners. Then, I turn and walk quickly to catch up with my parents.

After a while, I am trailing right behind them, listening to them hash out their woes of poverty. I wait for the right moment before...

"Is that student still renting an apartment from us?" I ask.

"What student?" Mother asks, calling over her shoulder.

"The _only_ one." I state, feeling impatient.

"That Pontmercy fellow?" A flash of hope lights up my chest.

"Yes, yes, him! Is he still at the inn?" I ask, a little too eager. My father places a hand on my mother's shoulder, stopping her from replying.

"Why do you care?" He asks suspiciously.

"N-No reason." I say, trying to be nonchalant. But he sees it, the hope in my eyes. He sees it and he is going to use it.

"He isn't at the inn anymore." Father says, walking briskly. "I _might_ know where he went, but I can't seem to remember."

Frustrations builds inside me. "What do you want from me?" I growl.

"I have a scheme I've been working on." Father says, brooding. "I'd be glad to have your help with it. Maybe then I'll remember where this, what was his name again, this Pontmercy gent has gone off to."

I wanted to rip his head off. Here I was, so close to finding Marius, and my father stands in my way. And I am powerless to do anything about it.

So I simply trudge on.


	4. Chapter 4

**I don't own Les Miserables.**

CHAPTER 4

I dully twist my hair around a finger, bringing the dingy road in and out of focus. I am wearing my old dress, which might have been pretty once but is now just a mass of torn cloth (I'm still not sure if it was stolen or not). It amazes me sometimes, how every single crevice in this entire city is filled with mud. Like everyone here sweats it. I rub my face then examine my hand, worried dirt will start oozing out my pores.

"Eponine!" My father's voice is angry. "Stay focused, you idiot!"

I sigh look at each of the people passing by, lingering on their faces for a few seconds. Maybe my father thinks I'm intent on helping with the con, but some dim hope is telling me that one of them could be Marius.

A man passes by, his white wig and fine clothes betraying his wealth. I almost pity him for a moment, then go in for the kill.

"Monsieur!" I cry out, flinging myself at him. "Monsieur, please help me!" I make my voice as pathetic as possible, opening my eyes to be wide and doe-like.

"What's the matter?" He asks hurriedly.

"These men, they came and attacked me!" I pretend to be on the verge of tears. "They tried to force themselves on me. I somehow managed to get away! Oh, good Monsieur, you must protect me!"

As the look on this man's face changes, I take a moment to appreciate my father's evil ingenuity. No man that we've ever pulled this con on has not opted to protect me, to defend me.

I often wonder why.

"Don't worry, Mademoiselle." He says grandly. "I'll-"

"Oh no," I cry out at my father and his gang rush for us. "They've come back!" I scream, breathy and high. The gang and my father softly rough up the man, distracting him with a flurry of arms and shouts. He is like a dumb cow, so confused and so overwhelmed, I almost feel bad when I slip my hand into his pocket, pull out his purse of money, then turn and run away at full speed. Behind me, the gang suddenly disappears into the crowd, leaving the poor man broke and confused.

I run for a while, my bare feet slapping against the moist ground. People don't look at me and I don't mind. After a while, I stop to catch my breath, I peak into the purse and am pleased to find a healthy pile of gold. It still amazes me how people can be dying on the street and yet this kind of wealth still exists. I slip four coins, not enough to raise suspicion, from the purse into a secret pocket I sewed into my dress years ago. Then, I tie the bag shut and hurry home.

I step into the old inn, the dingy walls and moldy smell no longer bothering me after so many years of habitation. In the back room, my father and his gang are gathered round a table, already getting drunk and loud. No doubt, women will start to be involved and then the entire business will get messy.

I drop the bag in the table. The sound of money snaps them out of their boisterous haze. My father instantly snatches the bag and greedily counts the money, paying no attention to me. The others stay quiet, save for a few interjections to speed up and replies telling the person to shut their face. After my father is done counting, he finally lets his eyes dart up to me, his pupils dark.

"How much did you take?" He asks harshly.

"I didn't take any!" The lie rolls perfectly off my tongue, the right balance of hurt and defensiveness.

"You'd better not," He stands up, murderously pointing a finger at me. "'Cause if I do, I'll kill you, you good-for-nothing slut, I swear." He glares at me for a moment longer before he distributes money throughout the others. I swallow hard. I have no doubt in my mind that he would make good on his promise.

I take a step out of the room and head up the rickety stairs to my room. Before I get there, though, I am struck by the sight of Marius' door.

I clutch my chest, feeling the ragged hole punched through my chest, the pain as present as if it just happened. I gasp, expecting a primal scream to tumble out my lips, but nothing come. I lean against the wall, gazing dumbly at the wooden surface of the door. I reach out, my fingertips hovering away, but I don't touch it. I just stare at it, so overwhelmed by that door and all it represents. I can't even put words to the flashes of raw color and pain that viciously attack my mind, I just stand there.

After a while, I don't know how, I get the strength to walk to my room, shut the door, and fall onto my thin mattress.

My room is plain, dirty, it holds hardly anything. I stare up at the ceiling, finding little patterns in it's moldy surface. My shoulder, still sore but healing nicely, throbs gently to my heartbeat. I can hear voice, happy, drunk, and angry, through the thin walls and beyond those, I hear the wheels of carriages, the sound of people moving, and the dull mist of everyday speaking. And if I listen very, _very_ closely, I can hear Marius' voice, calling, ever so gently.

"Eponine. Eponine. Eponine." I let my eyes drift close. When I open them, I am standing in the middle of an empty street. Marius is right in front of me, his face split with a huge smile, his hair as boyish and endearing as ever. I look at him and he looks at me and everything shine.

I don't know why, but I turn around and behind me, Cosette is standing there. She is just as lovely as I remember in that brief meeting we had. She wears a light blue dress, which makes her sky eyes shimmer and his blonde hair is tied in a neat braid. She's like an angel, standing there, so untouched by the dirty world, so perfect. She holds out her hand, beckoning.

I turn back around and Marius is gone. When I look back at Cosette, she is wearing a grand white dress and Marius is next to her, wearing a neat black suit. Suddenly, we are standing in a huge hall with golden ceilings and hand painted murals and angels and cherubs and hundreds of fancy-looking guests who have no faces. Cosette and Marius kiss. I scream.

I fall to my knees, covering my ears, screaming till I'm sure my throat is bleeding. Suddenly, the world is screaming so loud I can't hear myself and I'm shaking. Then, Cosette is standing over me, her face concerned. But when she opens her mouth, the voice of the commander climbing over the barricade is the only thing I hear. There's a loud _BOOM_ and I feel the bullet hit me again. I am on the ground, bleeding out, this time I am all alone. Then Javert, the merciless old inspector, is looming over me, his face highlighted grotesquely by the shadows. He then stands on both my shoulders and the pain is burning, so painful I... I...

"Eponine, wake up, stupid girl!" My mother's voice, ironically, is the thing that rescues me from this nightmare. I slowly open my eyes and I see her, standing over me, her hands digging deep into my shoulders. Her eyes are sharp and mad.

"Come get your dinner." She tosses me down onto my bed and storms off in a huff. I lay there for a moment, letting the sound of human breathing wash over me, before I get up and lumber downstairs. My parents, the gang, and some strangers are around a huge, aged circular table. A pot of soup sits in the middle, a basket of break being wrestled with makes its way across the table. I sit down in between a big burly man and a women with a low-cut dress and horrendous teeth. She wolves down her bread, the catches me staring.

"Oi," She says sharply. "Mind your own business." Her breath is rank and I turn away as I lean over the table, ladling some of the watery soup into a bowl. I snatch a piece of bread from the basket as it passes in front of me. I gnaw it absently, chewing on the stale crust slowly. The soup has nothing to it, made up of mostly hot water. I gulp it down anyway.

After I swallow, I say, "So where is he?"

"Eh?" Father says, eying a young lassie bouncing on Babet's knee. Mother jabs him in the ribs and redirects his attentions.

"Where is he? The Pontmercy student. You told me that if I help you, you would tell me where he was."

Father smiles a dark, sinister smile. "Oh no, that little con you pulled today was _not_ what I had in mind."

"What _did _you have in mind, then?" I grip my hands into tight fists.

"Well," He cracks his knuckles and leans back in his chair, the gang following example and quieting down. "I suppose I can tell you know. Do you remember that prick of an inspector, Javert?"

"Yes." I suppress a shiver, remembering my nightmare.

"Well, the old bastard bite the dust. They pulled him out of the river a few days ago." He turns to his gang. "Wish it was me who put him there." They snicker but I keep my face empty.

"Anyways, he kept some incriminating files on the gang and me. Some of which might not be safe in the public hand."

"Why did he just have these files lying around?" I ask.

Father shrugs. "Probably trying to get enough to jail us. Who knows? Anyways, the job I want you to do... is retrieve these files and give them to me."

"And how do I get them?" I ask, frustrated.

"How would I know?" Father mimics innocence. I grit my teeth, my mind thinking through this plan. No doubt Javert would have lived in a high class neighborhood. That means watchful neighbors and guards and servants and witnesses. Which makes this infinitely harder.

"Now, Javert's funeral is in three days." Father counts the days dramatically on his dirty fingers. "On his funeral day, the guests will return to his house for a reception and his property will be distributed. _Including _the files. If we don't have those files before that happens..." Father closes his fist, leaving his middle finger standing, mocking and arrogant. His gang snickers and he smiles, looking quite smug.

"Three days?" I say, almost amused, but not really. "You're giving me three days to rob the house of Paris' top inspector? You've got to be kidding me, even _you _aren't stupid enough to do that! You would take weeks, _months_ to plan a robbery like that!"

"And _that's_," Father interrupts me. "Why I'm making you do it." He leans in from across the table, his face dark and grim. "I don't care how you do it, Eponine, just get it done. You have three days."


	5. Chapter 5

**I don't own Les Miserables. Read my PJO fanfiction, "Aspasia Williams and the Darker Woods" and my Hunger Games fanfiction, "Broken Silence". Also, as the year comes down to a close, don't be surprise if I take a summer long hiatus. Nothing against anyone, I just need a time to myself and to let the story marinate in my mind.**

CHAPTER 5

"He asked you to do what?" Cameron is flabbergasted.

I shrug in indifference. We are in the ABC cafe, seated in a dark corner with steaming mugs of soup in front of us. Around us, the cafe is as boisterous as ever. Angry drunk men shout to angry drunk women who all get shouted at Annette, who's ruddy face is in a constant scowl that somehow manages to retain some motherly kindness in it.

"You're joking aren't you?" Cameron keeps pestering me. "This is some sick form of French humor?"

"No, I'm not joking." I glare up at him, hoping I look as annoyed as I feel. "Why would I joke about something like this?"

"How does he expect you to rob this house all by yourself?"

"He _doesn't_." I say through gritted teeth. "He know that no one could get those files without getting caught. He expects me to fail. He expects me to fail so that when the gang retaliates, it will be against me."

"Why would a father do that to his own daughter?" Cameron's eyes are so wide and innocent.

I let out a slow breathe and lower my eyes, studying the grain of wood in the table. "Because I ruined a con. I ruined a job and my father has decided that getting rid of me is easier than letting me keep living."

"A job can't be that important to him, can it?"

"A normal job wouldn't," I say, looking up at Cameron's hazel eyes once again. "But a job of revenge is much more personal."

"A job," Cameron speaks slowly. "Of revenge?"

I nod and start to explain what happened. I remember that night vividly because that night, it was the night I knew my hope died. The night Marius met Cosette. As they whispered soft words of love into each others' ears, my heart slowly crumbled under the weight of the pain. It's a miracle that I had noticed my father's approach, noticed the gang slinking through the shadows like ghosts. I remember the scream that tumbled out of my throat. I remember the slap that followed, the rush to run, the eventual finding of Cosette's letter. The earth shattering, live altering pain of reading those words. The plan that formulated from those words that eventually led me here, to this table, though I keep that part from Cameron.

"Okay." Cameron nods slowly, the understanding dawning on him gradually. "I can understand your father doing something like this. But there must be something you can do."

"There is." I say firmly. "I can either steal those files or die."

"I meant a third option."

"There _is _no third option. If I don't get those files, I'll never know where Marius is."

"Is he really that important?" Cameron's eyes are pleading.

I realize we've ended up leaning across the table, eye to eye. Now, I'm sure he can see the vibrant pain that is filling mine. Is Marius that important to me? So important that I would die for him?

I already have once.

I sit back in my seat, suddenly indifferent. I let the roars of the bar wash over me, trying to tell myself that my eyes aren't getting glassy and my heart isn't racing.

"Eponine," Cameron begins. "How did you end up on the barricade? How did you end up shot and dying, alone on the street?"

I make eye contact with him for an instant. His understanding infuriates me and gives me strength.

"That," I say. "Is none of your concern." I rise to my feet. "And I don't need your permission to carry out this plan. I _am_ doing it. And I _don't _need your help. So stay out of my way, _good Monsieur_." I spit out those last words and storm from the table, my heart boiling.

"Please, Eponine." Cameron grabs my arm and I jerk it from his grip.

"Why do you care?" My voice is a shout now, lost in a tall forest of shouts. "Are you obsessed with me or something? If you please, Monsieur, stay away from me. Stay away from me, okay? Stay away."

"Eponine!" I don't pay him any mind as I force my way through the great, sweaty bodies that stink of alcohol. Out of the damp street, I brush off my dress and, glancing to make sure the street is clear, I take a step.

Marius is in front of me.

The world stops and the sounds go mute. Nothing means anything anymore and the colors aren't there anymore. Except for Marius. Marius is color and he is light and he is love and he is meaning. The corner of his mouth is lifted in a half-smirk. His eyes are on me, not gazing past me or passing over me. Not intent on me for Cosette or anyone in the world. They are looking at me. Really looking at me. For the first time in my life, someone looks at _me_.

"Eponine! Look out!" A soft, warm avalanche rips me off my feet, pulling me back. I reach out for Marius, but the world is suddenly black. I am on the ground, lying on top of Cameron. A carriage zooms past, it's driver not giving us a single glance.

"Eponine, are you all right?" Cameron's hands are gentle against my skin, but they feel like hot coals to me.

"Let me go!" I tear at his limbs, blindly trying to get away. Boiling tears find their way down my cheeks and I don't know why. A voice that sounds like mine is screaming, "Marius! Marius, help me!" I'm reaching across the street, trying just to get a centimeter closer to him.

He is gone.

I stop, pressing my hands against the wet pavement. My breath is coming out if puffs, the temperature around us cooling drastically. Maybe he walked away. Maybe he's coming for me now. Maybe he's still there, your eyes are just playing tricks on you.

Maybe he was never there.

I don't do anything. I don't cry. I don't shout. I don't scream. I wipe my tears messily away and untangle myself from Cameron's long limbs. He doesn't question me, doesn't look at me, and I'm glad. I don't think I have the stomach for kindness right now.

After a moment of human breathing, Cameron says, "I would like to help you, Mademoiselle."

"Why?"

"Because I think I understand that he's _that_ important to you."

I look up at his eyes, his soft hazel eyes, and I realize that he's looking at me. _Looking _at me. Is he my friend, I ask myself. I don't think I've ever had my friend. Maybe Marius spoke to me once in a while, but he was not a friend. Maybe I knew the students, but they did not know me. The idea dawns on me that Cameron is my first friend.

"Alright." I mean to sound firm, but my voice sounds so soft and so lonely.

"Alright." Cameron smiles and takes my hands into his. Though mine are icy cold, I can feel them melt in the vast warmth of his.


	6. Chapter 6

**I don't own Les Miserables.**

CHAPTER 6

"That's it?" Cameron asks, his eyes turned skyward.

"That's it." I sigh and rest my weight on my heels.

Javert's house is tall and intimidating. It's all sharp angles and hard surfaces and lined with gargoyles that snarl at the both of us. The street is busy around us, but we don't pay any attention to it. There is a tall fence keeping us from examining the house closer, but it makes no difference. The house is built like a fortress and there's no way I will ever get in.

Attendants run around out front, preparing for the funeral in the next few days. I wrap my hand around one of the bars of the fence, letting the hard coldness burn my flesh.

"I think," Cameron says. "This is gonna be harder than anticipated."

"I think," I counter. "I should go ahead and make funeral arrangements." I turn away from the house, walking with the flow of the street. Cameron walks by me, digging his hands in his coat. The winter weather has come fiercely now, my own body is shivering beneath my threadbare dress. "It's possible we could still do this." Cameron says.

"No, it's not." I say simple and Cameron doesn't fight with me. Hopelessness comes at a strangely calm pace, no terror flows through my veins. I stare at the bricks beneath my feet and hold onto the fact that I will die soon.

"Eponine!" A hand clutches at mine and an instantaneous reaction sends a fist flying in it's direction. A hand grabs my wrist before I can connect with the face before me.

Montparnasse's dark eyes don't show any fear as they rest in his cherubic face, inches from mine. I can't help but let the corners of my mouth lift a few degrees. Montparnasse is part of my father's gang, but his age made him the closest thing to a friend I had. That is, before Cameron came along.

"Nice to see you too, Eponine." He gives me a cocky smile and I pull my hand from his grip.

"I'm sure you're use to that kind of response from other women." I rest my hands on my hip, taking note of the sharp bones I feel. "Montparnasse, this is Monsieur Cameron. Cameron, this is Montparnasse, a... _employee_ of my father's."

"Ah, a fellow criminal of the streets!" Cameron says brightly, extending a hand. "A pleasure to meet you, Monsieur."

Montparnasse eyes Cameron suspiciously before grasping his hand and shaking it stiffly. "You too." I instantly feel a kind of dynamic between us, a divide. Maybe it's Cameron's full cheeks and healthy shoulders and his clothes that weren't stolen and aren't threadbare and his shoes with no holes in them and all the money that is at his disposal and then there are Montparnasse and I, the grime between the stones of the street.

"What do you want?" I ask, breaking the staring contest between the two. Montparnasse breaks from Cameron's face to look at me, his expression unreadable.

"I've come to help you get those files from the old inspector's house."

"Really?" I cross my arms. "Why?"

"Because if those files get to the police, _I'm _the one who will take the fall." Montparnasse takes a step closer, completely invading my personal space. "Calquesous can get out of the charges, Babet and Brujon are old now, their lives are half gone. But I can still get out. I _need_ to get out." His eyes are hard and pleading. I don't back down from them.

"Most murderers _can't_ 'get out'." He flinches.

"How did you know?" His voice is quiet.

"Did you think I was stupid? Did you think I had no idea of the crimes you all committed on the streets?" Cameron stands as a still statue by me, his eyes watching me intently. "Who do you think was the one to burn the bloody clothes? Who do you think was in charge of disposing of the knives, of the guns?"

"I'm sorry." He says, desperate.

"I'm not someone to apologize to. I'm just as guilty, just at dirty." My heart tugs as I think about it but I stay strong. "You've made your choices. I've made mine. Now, the honorable thing to do, if you can even understand what _honor_ is, would be to face them."

"Please," His voice goes child-like. "I can't face the prison. I won't last a week, please..."

Maybe it's not his fault, I tell myself. Maybe him and the rest of the gang are all just victims of their lives. Maybe we're all just unfortunates of the consequences of life.

"Fine." I relent. His body relaxes with relief. He takes a step back, his dark youthfulness becoming less overwhelming with distance. "Thank you, Eponine. You won't regret it."

_I already regret it_. I roll my eyes and share a glance with Cameron. He is dubious, but I don't care. Maybe Montparnasse's knowledge of the world of ruffians and thieves will come in handy.

"So what's the plan?" Montparnasse asks.

"Right now... Nothing. We just came from the house and-"

"And it's a fortress." Cameron cuts me off. "There's no way anyone could get into it and not be caught, including you."

"Well, I sure me and Eponine and figure something out." The two men are glaring at each other intensely. Montparnasse's behavior doesn't surprise me, but Cameron's does. His normally cheerful face is all edges and hardness now, and I begin to understand the man that lies underneath his exuberance.

"Maybe... We shoulder go home. We'll discuss it another time." I tub on Montparnasse's shoulder.

"There is no more time, the funeral is _tomorrow._"

"What?" I exclaim. "Father told me there were three days til... Never mind." I run a hand through my hair, frustrated at my father's schemes to end me.

"It seems we have to do this now." Cameron says stiffly. "Let's talk about this at the cafe." Without another word, he starts walking with me and Montparnasse behind him.

"I don't trust this man." He whispers to me.

"And I shouldn't trust you, Montparnasse." I look at him, almost surprised at his hypocrisy. "You're a criminal, he's a doctor. Out of all of us, he's obviously decent, at least more than us."

"He doesn't understand us." He claims almost violently. "He doesn't know our life. He's not part of our world."

"No," I watch Cameron's back as he walks. "No, he is not."


	7. Chapter 7

**I don't own Les Miserables.**

CHAPTER 7

"I can't believe I'm doing this." I utter.

"There's no other way." Cameron says out of the corner of his mouth.

"Oh, I understand. I just still can't believe I'm doing this."

We're standing in a dark alley, across the street from Javert's house. The moon is hanging high in the sky, solemn and demure. The stars are cold and distant, the streets are dark and anticipating. Cameron is a floating face in a great sea of soft blackness, his coat enveloping him. I wear patched pants, a loose shirt, a misshapen hat, and a long trench coat. Still, I am shivering beneath them.

The plan that we're about to carry out is so simple, I don't understand how it can work. Montparnasse and Cameron will cause a fight out front to distract the attendants while I climb up the fence where it meets the house. From there, I'll have to climb through the window, into Javert's room, nab the files, and get out as fast as I can.

Like I said, a little too simple.

So I'm leaning against some building, feeling my breath travel through my body, looking up at the sky. I see little black lines travel through the midnight surface, the stars blooming from the branches. I blink and I start to see Marius' face take shape.

I close my eyes.

"Where is he?" Cameron asks.

"I don't know," I murmur, eyes still closed. "Montparnasse will show up when he wants. Who knows, he may never show up."

"Don't sound too enthusiastic."

I open my eyes, staring right at Cameron's. "Don't doubt my commitment to this. Just don't." I clench and unclench my fists, feeling the energy warm them.

"I don't, Eponine." His eyes are soft. "I'm just wondering-"

"You shouldn't wonder." I say, my voice jarringly hard.

"I know," His voice is firm, wiggling it's way into room to be heard. "But Eponine, a man may be worth dying for, but that doesn't mean you should."

"I already did once." I whisper, staring at the dark stones beneath us. Cameron doesn't say anything, just regards my face in the soft moonlight. "I think," he says. "It's time you tell me how you ended up on that barricade."

"I would," My voice is as soft as the stars. "But then you'd have something over me."

"Can't you just trust me?" He smiles and holds his hands out in a placating gesture.

"I don't trust anyone."

He nods and says, "Alright. If you tell me _your_ story, I'll tell you why I'm in France. Where I came from, _everything_."

I raise an eyebrow. I'm not sure I care that much about that, but I suppose it will do.

"Okay," I begin. "After I found Cosette's letter, I... I went back to the inn and I... I kept the letter from Marius. I hid it from him, didn't tell him about it. He went back to find her but... But she was gone."

"He lost her," Cameron muses. "He was searching for the women he loved... And she was gone."

"Yes." I wince, closing my eyes to find comfort in the darkness. "I don't know what happened to Cosette, I guess she's somewhere in England with her father. Anyway, Marius joined the revolutionaries. It was a little scary, seeing him after that. It was like... It was like he didn't care about anything or anyone. Like he didn't care about living."

"Of course he didn't, Cosette was out of his life." Cameron say sympathetically.

"Yes." I say through gritted teeth, willing him to stop interrupting. "So I followed him to the barricade. I followed him so I could be near him, so I could protect him. When the army was trying to get over the barricade, Marius, he," Tears threaten me from behind closed eyelids. "He was distracted, he didn't see... Didn't see a soldier, he was... He was pointing his gun at him and... And I didn't know what to do, I was climbing over bodies as fast as I could, I was trying, trying so hard to get to him. And when I did, when I did, I don't know what I did, I... I just grabbed the muzzle of the gun and... And I just... The pain... I fell and... And no one noticed until, until the army, till they receded. And when Marius found me, when he found me... I gave him the letter... Because I knew I was... I knew I was fading. And... And he held me and he kept holding me and when I woke up, I was in your apartment." I'm gasping for breath and the hole in my chest is tearing me apart violently and I keep my eyes closed, closed because I can't think of facing Cameron's gaze, his understanding, his sympathy. I don't think I can handle it.

We stand there silent for several moments, listening to the sound of my heart racing, my lungs retching. I slowly peel open my eyes to find myself staring down at a pair of solid black boots. I look up and Cameron's face is inches from mine. He smells warm and welcoming and the soft curves of his face are so serene. We hang there for a moment, in the delicate balance between desire and regret. He moves a millimeter closer, his lips part for a millisecond, and I whisper,"Your turn."

Cameron's eyes darken and the left corner of his mouth raises in a smirk. He steps back, into conversational distance, and runs an awkward hand through his hair. "Well," He begins, coughing into his fist. "My story is much less interesting. My mother, she was born in France. Quite poor, actually, even when she was married to her first husband. They had several children before he died and my mother's brother became their caretaker, until he was sent to jail. She eventually met _my _father, in Paris. He was a sailor and brought her back to America, married soon after."

"What happened to her children?" I ask, wiping my face, feeling my lungs calm down.

"I don't know. She doesn't speak of them. I can only assume the worse." He sighs. "My mother died a few years ago and begged me to return to France to try and find her brother, or at least, anything left of him. It wasn't until recently that I was able to. I was trying to find him before I met you, but the search is hopeless. No one cares about a penniless criminal oh so many years ago."

"What was his name?"

"Valjean. He was Jean Valjean."

I shrug, indifferent and composed now. I hear footsteps and turn to see Montparnasse approaching.

"Sorry I'm late." He says. "I had to get away from your father."

"Story of my life." I mutter. "Are you ready?"  
"Oh yeah." His eyes glisten with just enough deviance to make me shiver. I nod and step out of the shadows, onto the street.

Tonight, I commit a crime.


	8. Chapter 8

**I don't own Les Miserables.**

CHAPTER 8

I am pressed against the cold, damp stone, barely breathing. The moon hangs above me as a silent witness, almost glaring at me.

_Don't look at me like that_. I shout back. _It's not like I wanna do this_.

The streets are painfully quiet, like the calm before the storm, like the _shush_ of the water before the next crashing wave. Only natural lights hover on the streets. The air is heavy. Still.

Suddenly, I hear angry shouts and the aggressive explosions of sounds between a fist and a body. Light slowly light up Javert's windows as attendants scurry out to stop the fight. I take my cue and I start scaling the ornate wall. The hard rock cuts into the tender flesh of my palms, but I keep climbing. My knees scrape against the stone and I am forced to stand on my tip toes at some places. My shoulder, though mostly healed, protests under the use. I try and cut off all my senses and only focus on climbing, that's all that matters, climbing.

Eventually I get to the height of the first window. To my right, the iron points of the fence gleam in the soft moonlight. I still hear Cameron and Montparnasse fighting, mixed in with shouts of the attendants. I suspect Cameron and Montparnasse have some real aggression they're venting right now. I don't think about it, only look over to my left at the balcony of the closest window.

I take a deep breath and take a shuffled step along the ledge.

The ledge is only a little bit larger than my own foot. Any mistake and I'll plummet down to the hard stone ground. Maybe it won't kill me, but I'd still rather not. I keep my nose in the wall, not daring to move more than necessary. I keep breathing to a minimum, I blink slowly, watching my movements from the corners of my eyes. I use my hands and try and find grips in the embellished wall. My heart pumps adrenaline violently through my veins, but I maintain a steady step. Or more of a shuffle.

Eventually, I make it to the balcony and I tumble onto it's hard surface. I take deep slow breathes, a sudden wave of nausea washing over me. The noises of the fight are gone now, I don't know where Cameron or Montparnasse are. I'm alone now.

I get up and move to the window, trying to push it inward. It's locked. But we thought of this and I pull out a long knife from my coat and slid it between the panes. After a bit of wiggling, they pop open and I step into the room.

It is too dark to see anything, but just the way the air sounds, I know there's heavy fabrics in here. I take a step and the sound of my boots are muted. I hold my hands out before me, trying to find my way to a door or a wall or anything.

I come up against a wall suddenly and walk along it until my arm hits something iron and glass. I run my hands over it and it's a lamp in a wall hanger. I blindly take it out and, searching again, find a table to set it on. I search through my pockets and find a mostly empty package of matches. Cautiously, I take one, strike it, and race to light the lamp. It catches and the burning light brightens the dim room. It is a plush bedroom with thick carpets on the floor. I see a desk in the corner and I run to it, searching the drawers, but find nothing. I sigh and turn to the door.

I turn the knob and the door opens slowly. I step out and my steps are still muted by the soft _hush_ of carpet. I hold out the lamp tentatively, its soft glow showing the gray of the bare, austere walls. The air is neutral, but a shiver still passes through my spine.

I take slow steps, like a glacier passing over a mountain. I feel stupid, wandering these halls, not knowing where the files could be. I think about trying the doors of all the rooms, but then imagine walking in on an unsuspecting servant. No, that wouldn't be good. No, I'll have to be very, _very_ lucky.

I'll have to open only one more door: Javert's.

I walk down the vast hallway for a while, feeling infinitely small. I never knew people _actually_ had houses this large. The dim light of the candle allows me to see directly in front of me, hardly any more. The grotesque shadows that surround me fill my mind with images of ghouls with menacing faces like Javert, wrapping their long fingers around me, waiting for me to fall into their grasp.

I come to a grand staircase covered in red carpet. I considering going up it. At the same time, I consider going down it. Suddenly, I hear a creak in the wood and my heart leaps to my throat. I spin around and I am face to faced with an old man in a wrinkled robe. His face is dimly lit by the lamp, stretched wide in surprise.

"What are you-"

I don't hesitate to push him violently against the wall, holding my forearm against his throat. His eyes bulge and dilate in fear. He gags beneath the pressure of my arm, but I push harder.

"Shh!" I tell him violently, trying to keep the tremor of fear from appearing in my voice. "You listen to me," I hold the lamp close to my face so he can see me. I _sure_ can see him. His white hair, his large pores, his smooshed nose, his pale eyes, they are shiver with fear. "You listen and no one gets hurt, alright? _Alright_?" I push a little harder. He gags and nods violently, which is hard to do with someone choking you.

I hold him with the arm holding the lamp, searching my pockets with my free hand. To prove my point, I pull out a dull knife. It glints in the light and he gulps.

"If you don't help me, you'll end up with this in your back. Understand?" He nods slowly, still staring at the knife. "Now, where's Javert's room?"


	9. Chapter 9

**I don't own Les Miserables. This will probably be my last chapter till summer is over, so... Goodbye! But stay tuned for updates and the new Aspasia story.**

CHAPTER 9

The attendant walks in front of me slowly, shakily. He holds the lamp, I hold his shoulder and the knife. I feel a little bad using force, but I don't feel bad enough to let him go.

Going up the stairs takes time. Each steps threatens to emanate a creak and the attendant is almost whimpering and my patience, my patience is wearing thin. I try to hurry, but that only slows us down even more.

After what feels like a lifetime, we are at the top of the stairs and the going is much faster. After a journey through the dark halls, he takes me through a huge oaken door. He shakily sets the lamp on a cabinet.

"Is this it?" My whisper is like my heart: furiously scared. He nods. I don't hesitate to bring the but of the knife down on his head, somewhere near his temple. He collapses and I try and catch him, only to end up being caught up in the fall. I struggle under the soft yet heavy body, eventually pushing it awkwardly off me. I hook my hands under his armpits and drag the body away, trying to find somewhere to store it. I'm thinking about how that's such an awful thing to think as I'm trying top stuff him under the bed. I apologize to him when I try to cover him with a rug. And I make sure he is comfortable when I finally leave him in the closet.

I shut the closet door quietly and return to the lamp, lifting it up. Javert's room is large, grand, stark, and hard. No decorations, no colors, no feelings. There is a heavy desk to one end and I rush to it. The surface is covered in papers and I begin shifting through them, seeing the royal seal at the top of all them. There's nothing there. I begin searching the drawers, nothing. But one, it is locked. My heart leaps and I take my knife and dig it deep into the lock. I jiggle it for a moment and I hear a click. I pull on the drawer and it opens easily. I feel a smile light my face.

I look through the folders and find it. I find it. A pale folder with papers neatly kept inside. I open it and the first name I read is mine: Thénardier. I let my fingers hover over that single sheet, decisions flying through my mind. Then, I grab it and shove it into my pocket. I shut the folder quickly and shove it in my jacket. Now to get out. I take the lamp into my hands and rush out of the room, shutting the door as quietly as possible. Then, I begin to retrace my steps to where I came in from. It all goes smooth until I'm climbing the stair and suddenly a voice cries, "Who are you?" And I fall in fear and the lamp flies from my hand.

The glass shatters against the carpets and flames instantly consume the plush fabric that surrounds me. I scramble to get away, feeling the fierce heat blister my skin. The attendant who caught me is lit up, his face white with terror. Suddenly he is yelling and others are swarming towards us. I get to my feet and run, the air suddenly boiling. The fire has crept up to the stark wallpaper and is climbing up the walls, reaching the ceiling. The smoke is thick and black and it stings my eyes as I run.

When I find the room I entered from, I run to the window and I see Montparnasse and Cameron waiting below, eyes strained for me. They are in that hesitant distance below where I believe it is not dangerous, but my body tells me it is. But behind me, the shouts and screams tell me the fire is not being contained and the send panic through my veins. I step out on the ledge and try to decide what to do when I hear a great crash of burning wood. I look back to see and that movement disrupts my center of gravity. I stumble.

I fall.

The fall lasts less for a second, but even so, it is terrifying. Gray and black and blue twist and turn around my vision, turning the world upside down, until I crash into something soft, then something so unforgivingly hard that the world turns bright with the pain. I lay there, dazed, while someone pulls at my shoulder, trying to get me into the shadows. I understand, I know we can't be seen, I crawl my way with them. The soft thing beneath me follows us.

When we are safe in the darkness, and my eyes has returned to reality, I see Cameron, sitting on the ground, leaning on the building across from me. I must have landed on him, because he is rubbing his shoulder in pain. He catches my eye and all I can see is concern.

"Are you all right?" He asks.

"Did you get it?" Montparnasse is the same as ever: impatient.

"I think I'm fine." I am sore all over and it feels like that pain will never go away, but I know it will. It has to.

"Did you get it?" Montparnasse is persistent. "Did you? Huh? Well?"

I sigh, annoyed, but I concede. Slowly, painfully, I reach into my jacket and pull out the files. It glows like a bone in the moonlight. Montparnasse snatches it and reads through the files greedily. Then, he closes it and tucks it under his arm. He smiles a smug smile.

"Well," He tips his hat to both of us. "Have a pleasant evening, you two."

"Wait," I say. "What?" Before I can say anything more, he runs off merrily, laughing over the cries of the attendants in the burning house.

"Wait-" I struggle to my feet. "Stop!" I try to run after him but a burning pain in my side is so intense that I only get to the other side of the alley, slowly sinking down to sit next to Cameron.

"What an asshole." I state.

"I'd have to agree with that." His lip is busted, probably from his 'fight' with Montparnasse, and his eye is is yellow and purple and black. Three layers of delicate pain. "What now?" He asks.

I think about that for a moment. Montparnasse has the files, will probably give them to my father. That means he won't tell me where Marius is. But I reach into my pocket and find that papery surface of my father's file. The only one that really matters. As long as I have that, I am safe. As long as I have that, I have hope.

But right not, in this instant, all I can say is, "I don't know."


	10. Chapter 10

**I'm baaack!**

**And I still don't own Les Miz.**

CHAPTER 10

Cameron is looking at me skeptically as we walk down the abandoned streets. "Are you sure this will work?"

"Absolutely not." I say. "But it's worth a try."

"Your father will do anything to get that file."

"Which is why," I counter. "We're going to give it to him. _After_ he tells me where Marius is."

"He'll kill you first."

"And that's why we're leaving right when he tells me." I look at him pointedly. "Don't you hear a thing I say?" He shakes his head, smiling. And I find a tender smile on my face. I wonder why as I look down at the cobble stone street, pulling my arms close against the cold. It has begun to snow and each snowflake falls slowly down. My body still burns from my fall from Javert's home, but it's dulled to steady ache now.

"That was very brave." Cameron says. "I didn't tell you that before... But it was."

"Stealing from a dead cop to clear my criminal father's name," I scoff. "Yeah, very heroic."

"I'm just saying, I wouldn't break into a... A _castle_ or whatever, just for some girl I knew." I stiffen.

"Marius isn't just _some_ boy." There is a silence.  
"I'm just saying," Cameron finally replies. "I hope he deserves you, ya know? I hope... I hope he's good enough for you." And then we don't speak for a while.

_Him_ good enough for _me_? If anything, I should worry about being decent for him! Marius, good, kind, noble Marius, not _good_ enough for me. Me, a thief, liar, beggar, ugly little accomplice. Me, deserving someone better than Marius? Me...

In the corner of my eye, I watch Cameron watch the ground. He seemed to genuinely think that I'm... I'm worthy of something. Maybe he's right or maybe he's wrong, but the fact that he thinks that is still touching.

We get to the inn Cameron is staying in to gather his things. As we head to his room, I can't help but feel completely out of place. It isn't like Javert's home, but it's better than anything I've ever _legally_ been in, with it's bright fluer de leis tapestries and mahogany rails alongside the stairs. I become even more curious as to Cameron's wealth.

We get to his room and he turns to me and says, "Wait here." I nod, suspicious, as he slips into his room. I wonder why he wanted to keep me out and I assume he has _private _things he'd like to keep from me. I imagine Cameron stuffing his underpants into his suitcase and I giggle. Maybe he had a "lady friend" over and wishes to hide the evidence. The idea of Cameron with another women surprisingly angers me. I picture this imaginary harlot, probably ugly and diseased. I picture me punching out her last two teeth. I smile.

I stand close to the door and hear whispered mutters. I put my ear up to the wood and it dawns on me.

He's praying.

I can just barely make out the words. "... many blessings and Your protection during my journey. I thank You for leading me thus far and I pray You'll take me even further, till I find my Uncle. But if it is not Your will, than lead me otherwise."

I scoff slightly in contempt. I didn't take Cameron for some religious nut. He seemed so normal, so kind and modest and funny. This man was like those rich twits, all dressed up in their lace and their airs and their powders, going to fine churches and listening to sermons about being kind and generous and then turning up their noses at the starving on the streets? I shook my head.

"Lord, I thank you for Eponine." I press my ear hard against the door.

"Lord, thank You so much for bringing her to me. I know it was You who guided my hand in saving her and I cannot cease in thanking You for that. She is truly something special." His words touch my heart in a way I didn't think they could.

"Lord, please save her." I squeeze my eyes close, half wishing he would stop, another half wishing he would continue. "Lord, she is so lost. She's trying to find love in this Marius when all she truly needs is You. That's all she... She really needs..." He trails off. I find a tear forcing it's way down my face and wipe it away. I've rejected any god, if there even is one, for the last sixteen years and I'm not gonna stop now.

"Lord," Marcus is quiet now. "You know what I desire in my heart. You know the feelings that I try and hide in the darkest regions of my being. Please, please, Lord..." His voice was like a sacred whisper. "Either take these feelings from me to better do Your work or..." I held my breath

"Or make her love me as I love her."

And I'm gripping my heart, feeling the aching, searing pain that courses through my body. Cameron's words strike me, they hit right at the weak point, the chink in my armor and now I'm defenseless. Cameron, good, kind, sweet Cameron. This boy loves me. He truly loves me.

But he is not Marius.

Marius never told me he loved me, not true and proper at least. I tell myself it's because he never knew, we didn't have time, he never knew the degree of my love, the strength. It wasn't until the last moments when he finally realized how deeply... How deeply he cared...

I try to tell myself this, but I'm not strong enough to believe it.

I straighten myself up against the wall next to the door, trying to wrap my control around my heart, stifling it, choking it. But I can't help feeling a rush of compassion, tenderness towards Cameron, for his feelings are true. To him, at least. I feel something, something lodged deep in my dark heart, like where Cameron hides his feelings, something that scares me and that I shove away from my vision.

Cameron keeps his prayers up, but I leave him to it. I say a little prayer of my own to this god of his. _Protect him_, I ask. _And lead me to Marius. So I can know. So I can know which love is real_.

Marcus comes out after a while, his bags under his arms, and his hazel eyes as exuberant as ever. "So," He says. "Off to go get ourselves killed?" I try to smile at him, but I can't look him in the eyes. I turn to walk away when he grabs my arm. "Is something wrong?"

I shrug off his touch. "No. No, nothing's wrong."

He doesn't say another word and we leave the apartments quickly, trudging down the streets. The snow has built up to a few inches now, but it is light and flattens softly beneath our feet. My threadbare clothes barely keep any warmth next to me, but it's better than if I was wearing my one dress, full of huge slits and tears and holes. I shudder at the thought. Cameron must mistake my shivers and takes off his jacket and drapes it over my shoulders.

"No really, I don't need-"

"Please, I insist." He sneaks his hand into mine and melts my flesh with his warmth. He gives me a shy smile and I blush wildly, pulling my hand from his and wrapping my arms around my body tightly, discouraging any more displays of affection.

The lamp posts are all glistening, reflecting the weak candlelight off each individual snowflake. "They're beautiful." Cameron remarks as we walk. "Like little falling stars."

I think about how I would walk these streets at night, all on my own, and I would see those stars filling the river till it glowed and I felt Marius' arms around my shoulders and his lips...

"Then we're walking on crushed stars." I mutter, trying to shake away my thoughts.

"And we're collecting them in our eyelashes and on our coats." Cameron says, smiling sublimely.

"You're a little too poetic for me, Monsieur Russel." I say curtly.

"I think you're much more poetic than you give yourself credit for, Mademoiselle Thenardier. I think you have a lot of beauty in you that you don't want to show."

"Why would I show beauty?" I shout loudly, disturbing the serenity of the Parisian streets. "No one would notice. No one would care!" There's a moment when there is only the sound of falling stars and breathing. Then Cameron says, "I wouldn't say no one, Mademoiselle."

His words grate my brain, mostly because they're so genuine and kind and that infuriates me. I wish he was disagreeable and mean and old and ugly and didn't love me like he did. I wish for that with all my heart.

I really do.

Suddenly there's a man in front of us, tall and thick like a mountain. I look up at him to tell him to move when I see it's Babet.

My heart stops.

I spin around, ready to run, but there's my father, a knife glistening in the snowy light. I see the rest behind him. Montparnasse is emotionless, his hair greasy and dirty and his body disappearing into the shadows. The others are only shapeless forms in the dark, watching. Waiting. Cameron puts a protective arm around me and, surprisingly, I let him.

"Where is it?" My father's voice is like steel.

I swallow hard, my throat dry. "Where's Marius?" I counter. He takes a menacing step towards us, his eyes like two hot coals.

"You're paying a dangerous game, little girl." He sneers. "You'll tell us now, or you and your fellow will die in the worst possible ways."

"You can't kill me." I say, feigning boldness. "You'll never find that file without me." I pray he'll buy that, considering the file is carefully folded up in my pocket.

"You're bluffing." He says carelessly. He grabs my arm and squeezes it so tight, I think he's drawn blood. Cameron tries to push him back, but Babet grabs him and holds him back. Father takes his knife and runs the blade almost delicately across my jaw. "You're bluffing and now you're gonna pay."

I stifle the fear the rises up inside me. "You think I'm scared," I choke. "I'm not afraid." I'm lying. He knows it. "I'm not afraid of you or your gang of nitwits. I'm not afraid of anything." I look deep into his hellish eyes and see myself in them. "You think I'll crack under torture. You think I'll tell you where it is. I won't. I swear to whatever god there is, I won't. You'll never find it. I'll keep it from you till my last breath, you'll never get it. Never." I spit in his face. Incensed, he wipes it away slowly. Then, he applies more press to the knife, piercing the skin at the corner of my jaw.

_Now_, I think. I open my mouth and let out the loudest, most hellish scream I've ever let out. No, I've done it once before. Once, to protect Cosette's house. Once before.

Father punches me so hard in the throat that I'm sure that my windpipe has collapsed. I fall to the ground and wait for him to stab me, but I hear the gallop of horses. I see Cameron, elbowing Babet in the stomach, who keels over. I take the moment of surprise to kick my father's legs out from under him. As he falls to the ground, the gang scatters, the sound of the police horses getting closer. My father's knife lays beside him and I grab it, quickly grabbing him by his coat and holding it to his throat.

"Marius. Where?" I demand. My father's once terrifying eyes now look scared and small. "If you think I won't kill you simply out of spite," I spit at him. "You're wrong. Now _tell_ me."

My father's voice sputters in his throat. "Montreuil-"

"Eponine!" Cameron yanks me back. I scream in protest, even seeing the police racing down the street. I don't care, I don't. My father takes no time at all to scramble to his feet and disappear.

"Let me go!" I scream at Cameron, my voice raw with rage. "Let me go, I hate you! I hate you so much, let me go!"

But he doesn't. He does his best to run while dragging me, kicking and screaming. Eventually, my feet react without my consent and we're running down the streets at full speed. We've lost the horses, dodging in and out of snowy damp alleys and under bridges and through musty open houses. Somehow I ended up sitting in the ABC cafe, with a steaming cup of something in front of me. The cafe is bustling, as usual, but I don't see any of it. I don't any of it. I don't know where Cameron is, I don't know when we got here.

Annette comes along, her ruddy face concerned. She wipes her hands on her apron and sits down in front of me. "Eponine," she says softly. "You haven't touched your broth, you haven't said a word. What's wrong, girl?"

"I was so close." I say, staring at her hands, placed carefully on the table. "I was so close. So close. He was saying it, where Marius was, he _was_, I was so close, and then Cameron and the police and, I was so close, so close, you know? So close. And now, I just, I..."

Annette takes one of my chilly hands in hers. "My dear, I know how much this means to you. I know how deeply you cared for Marius."

"_Cared_ for." I mock quietly.

"But I have to say," She continues. "Is he worth it? I know Marius was, _is_ kind and sweet and good, but is he really worth it?"

When Cameron said that, I was furious. But now, I actually let the words sting my raw heart. I feel it and I search for the answer and I don't know, I don't know anymore.

"It's not enough to love someone," Annette says, rising. "They have to love you back. That's what real love is. Give and take." She shrugs simply and returns to her bar.

I take a sip from the broth in the mug. It's thick, creamy, delicious, and goes down like glue. I think about Annette's words. Loving Marius isn't enough. It never was. Love is giving love and being loved. Maybe Marius only appreciated me, liked me. But that's not enough.

Cameron returns later, breathless and rosy cheeked. "It's all settled." He shakes the snow from his curls, letting drops of frigid water fall over me. Even in my melodramatic angst, I can't help but let a smile onto my face.

"What's settled?" I ask. He grabs my mug and takes a deep swig. "Don't worry," I say sarcastically. "I wasn't drinking that." And just like that, Cameron simply have to appear for life to fill me back up.

He swallows. "Mhm, good." He licks the remainder off his lip. "I've arranged for a carriage to take us to the coast. I haven't found my uncle and I doubt I will. I've decided to return to America."

"Good for you," I say quizzically, not understand the stab of pain that flashes in my chest. "But what am I to do?"

Cameron looks sheepish, coughing into his fist. He lets out a slow breath. "I was hoping," he says slowly. "That you would come with me."

The surprise is like lightning, griping my joints and stopping my heart. "Me?" I say dumbly. "Go to America?"

"You have no life here," he supplies quickly. "You've no family, no connections, no ties. I-I just assumed that, if you didn't have anything better to do," He half laughed, but his eyes didn't laugh, they were trained on me. "I hoped you would come with me."

I stare at the table. "What about Marius?" The mere mention of his name makes me hollow. Cameron takes my hands in his and I hate myself because I don't want him to let them go.

"Eponine," His voice is desperate. "Please. I know you don't like it, but this is hopeless. He's gone, he's runaway somewhere you'll never find. Please, there's no life looking for him. Please, I- I..." He rubs my skin with his thumb, looking so sad and so pensive. "I love you, Eponine. I love you so much and I want you to be with me and be my wife."

The words had the exact effect that I thought they would. Hot tears pouring form my eyes, my breath coming out in huffs, my hands shaking, my ears burning, and the world makes sense. Through my tears, I see Cameron's face, so dear, as he reaches up and cups my cheek in his hand.

"Please come with me. Please. Let me take you away. Please, Eponine, dear Eponine, please..."

What can I say to that? What can I say to the first person who has ever loved me, ever truly lived it and truly said it and truly meant it? What can I say to a man so real and so _here_?

So now I'm sitting in a fine carriage, wearing a dress nicer than anything I've ever own, Cameron sitting next to me, holding my hands, as we watch Paris grow smaller and smaller. My heart aches, but I don't know if it's from pain or from experiencing happiness for the first time.


	11. Chapter 11

**I don't own Les Miserables.**

CHAPTER 11

We are traveling with members of the French Navy, on their way to ship out to who knows where. There are only about five and they give me and Cameron the privacy of the actual carriage and ride on top the box with their gear and guns, smoking profusely and telling apparently very funny dirty jokes. There are a total of about twenty soldiers, with two carriages. We've been traveling for a few days now, staying at inns that are a blur when I think about them now.

Cameron is a bit smothering, I don't feel bad about saying that. He is constantly watching with his stupid understanding eyes and asking me if I'm alright, if I'm hungry or thirsty, if I need to stop and use the facilities. The dress that he bought me before we left Paris is as fancy as a wedding cake compared to anything else that I've ever worn, such a pale blue, like the cloudy sky. For some reason, the lovelier it is, the more I hate it. I answer Cameron with single syllables, which worries him even more. I force him to sit across from me, for if he sat next to me, he would be bound to try and hold my hand and I don't think I could take that.

But I don't care about putting him at ease. I just rest my forehead against the icy glass and watch as my breath fogs it up. I absently trace patterns in it and dream of what my life could have been. I could've had Marius, I could've had a family who wasn't useless. I could've been happy once in my life, I could've, I could've...

Out of the corner of my eye, I spy Cameron, asleep, exhausted by his hovering over me. His curls bounce to the movement of the carriage gently. His face is like a young boy's when he sleeps, no cares, no worries, no responsibilities.

And then I realize, that's the reason he's so close to my heart. All his cares, all his worrying, all his _compassion_, this is what has won him a place next to my heart. This is what makes him so special.

This is what makes me love him. And I wouldn't want him any other way.

I think of Marius, trying to view him as objectively as possible. In reality, he never cared for me. He used me when it was convenient for him, but there was no caring, no fondness, no _love_.

In a moment of stupidity, I reach over and clasp his gloved hand. He stirs in his sleep and his half-opened eyes rest on our hands, joined together. He smiles faintly.

Suddenly, there is a loud pop and cracking wood. I pull back my hand instantly, holding it over my heart, feeling the throb of my old wound. I know that sound. It's the sound of a gunshot.

The carriage jerks to a halt. I hear the soldiers shouting, getting their weapons at the ready. More gunshots go off and one soldier falls over the side, crashing to the ground, motionless. I gasp, feeling my heart beat race.

"Stay here." Cameron is fully awake now, his eyes full of dread. I grab his shoulder as he tries to open the door.

"Don't." I plead. "Please, don't. Don't do this, please, you'll die, you'll die, please don't I..." Cameron takes my hands in his, his eyes showing that, like always, he knows what I really mean.

"Eponine," My name sounds so sweet, so much realer with his voice. Why did it take till now for me to realize this? "I promise. I won't be like Marius. I'll come back. I'll always come back." He cups my face and we're leaning into each other, so easy, so natural...

An explosion shakes the earth and everything is spinning and everything is smoke and dust and I can't breathe, something is on me, what's on me, I can't-

It's Cameron, his face suddenly streaked with black powder and his eyes frantic. The carriage has been pushed over, the sound of shouts and guns deafening. Cameron pushed open the door, now directly above us, and sticks his head out.

"God help us..." I hear him murmur.

"What? What is it?"

Cameron pulls his head back in. "It's your father and the gang."

We're dead.

"How many?" I ask, breathless.

"Too many for us to handle." He says wearily. "More than I'd ever seen with him."

"My father has many connections." I say simply. Death is looking at me and I let him. Suddenly, Cameron's arms are pulling me up and I slump against them, they're so strong and nice and I wanna die in them, I really could.

"You have to run." Cameron is saying. "You have to run and get help. We can't be that far from some town, but you have to run. I don't think they'll notice you, the soldiers have them pretty preoccupied. But you have to run, Eponine. Eponine, Eponine, please, love, please, you have to run, you have to live, do you hear me?" He's shaking me, shaking me so hard I might be in pain.

"I don't wanna leave you." I say dumbly, gripping his arms tightly.

"You won't be." He says matter of factly. "You'll always be with me." In a messy blur, he kisses me hard on the lips, pressing against me so hard that I think I might burst. It's all over too soon and his head is against mine and he's saying, "Run fast, my love. We'll be back together soon."

And then he's helping me out of the carriage and outside is all bullets and screams and gray and barricades and horses and dead men and shouting and I see Marius, I see him holding out his hand and I almost take it, but Cameron's are much more real and they're pushing me and yelling run, run, run, Eponine, get help, go, go, my love, go!

And I'm running, running so fast, my ratty hair trailing behind me, this stupid dress tangling up in my legs and the ground is so unforgiving and I follow the road, I have to follow the road, I have to get help. And no one follows, no one follows and I'm running so hard and so fast and so long that I think I've already started on the trip to dying, I really have.

There comes a time where the light is so dim that I can't see the road. Where did the sun go? I look around and I'm surrounded by empty lands, all of them so dark and so lonely. It's cold, I realize that now. I pull my arms into my chest, shivering. I look up into the sky. It's dark, no color. It's starting to snow. I try to cry but I can't. I try to scream but there's no sound.

I think about going back, I have to go back, but I don't know where _back_ is. I simply start walking, slow and unsteady. For hours, days, years, lifetimes, I am walking. Finally, my legs are shaking and I can't feel my feet or my arms and everything is dying and I fall down, but I fall onto stone and I thin about how nice and icy and unforgiving the stone is, because if it was forgiving, there would be hope and there's no hope for me now, there's none.

Before I fade into the dark, I feel hands touching me and lifting me away. _Is that you Marius?_ I ask. But I see Cameron instead and I smile, holding my arms out to him.


	12. Chapter 12

**I don't own Les Miserables.**

CHAPTER 12

In a blur of a moment, I open my eyes to hazy gray. My blood has been replaced by lead and I can't move, I'm so weak, and I just need to go to sleep. Please, I just want to die already, please.

When a voice speaks, I expect it to be Cameron, I want it to be Cameron, but it isn't. It's a soft woman's voice, so soft and so gentle. "Don't fret, my child, you will be well soon." I feel warm heat on my left cheek and woolen itchiness wrapped around my arms. I barely manage to open my eyes and I see a women, her face surrounded by white.

"Are you an angel?" I ask.

"No," The women says, something like a smile on her face. "I am Sister Nativity. You are in the convent in Montreuil-sur-mer."

And with that, I'm gone.

A while later, I wake up to a gray light filling a stone room. It's empty this time, no angel, no Sister Nativity. I turn on my side and a small fire was burning, providing weak heat. I pull the heavy woolen blanket tight around me, but my bones are still cold, like the cold is coming from inside me. Cold sweat beads on my forehead and my head and my body ache. I watch the fire burn until it collapsed in on itself and died.

I could hear faintly, so faintly, the beautiful light tones of angels. So far, but so close. Singing in a language so pure and so strange yet it pierced my heart like nothing I've ever heard.

_Cameron would've loved this_, I think. I feel a cry welling up in my soul and I part my dry lips, letting my silent sorrow spill out. I feel a tear well from the corner of my eye, over my nose, and down into my ear. I let myself fall asleep.

"You must eat, child." Sister Nativity is sitting on my bed, her white habit creased with worry. "You must, or you shall perish." She has a bowl of thick soup in her lap. I remain curled up in my blanket, watching her face. Her skin is weathered and wrinkled, but only in a way that makes me think she is about fifty. Her brown eyes are deep, so deep I might fall into them. Her mouth is thin and often curled with compassion, like it is now. She reaches over and strokes my clammy forehead. I like that, it reminds me of something a mother does, not that I would know, my mother, she never, my father, my father he came, my father...

"Please, child. Please eat. You must recover your strength. Please." She's pleading, so pure and so kind. After a while, she simply places the bowl on the ground, gets on her knees, and prays, right there in front of me. She does not pray like Cameron, she does not speak to God like He is an intimate friend, though her prayers are layered in adamant love and adoration. She speaks to God like one would speak to One who is the author of creation. She prays, prays for me, for my health, for my affliction. Then she is so involved she simply has to name everyone she can think of in need. Sister Hope with her chores, Sister Magdalene with her vanity, Sister Rapture with her arthritis, Mother Ascension with her worries for all of the others.

I lay there and listen.

A doctor is prodding me, laying his hands on me. _No_, I silently protest. _Cameron is my doctor. Only Cameron can touch me, only Cameron can help me_.

I barely feel my body any more, I barely see anything, I don't hear the things I don't want to, I don't feel anything. I don't know when it is, I don't know anything but the feel of the bed and the words of Sister Nativity.

"What ails her?" Mother Ascension, the prioress of the convent, asks. She is a bent, old and frail women who somehow possess such power in her presence that it makes her seem six feet tall.

"I cannot say," The doctor, surprisingly a man, says. His voice is low and serious. "I have given her all the medicines I can, for chills, for influenza, everything. I would advise perhaps a bleeding-"

"I won't have such beastly practices preformed on someone so weak." Sister Nativity protests firmly. "Nor in a house of God."

"Sister Nativity," Mother Ascension says, placing a hand on the sister's shoulder. "Perhaps you should return to your prayers." I don't see Sister Nativity, but I know she must be red with shame. She leaves and Mother Ascension steps closer to the doctor. "What do you think is wrong with the girl? Madness perhaps?"

"Not madness," He says. "Mad people do not look you in the eyes. They do not sigh with annoyance as you check their pulse. They do not listen in on your conversation." The doctor turns around and flashes a knowing look at me. I shut my eyes, angry at myself that I felt interest. But slowly, I can't help it, I crack them open again.

"So what is it?" The mother superior asks.

"I can only speculate that it's simply she's lost the will to live." He shrugs. The head mother shakes her head.

"Thank you, doctor." She says, bowing a bit.

"My pleasure." The doctor retrieves his hat from the hook by the door. "Have you heard of the horrible attack a few miles from town?" Mother Ascension said she had not. "It's awful. A whole troop of Naval officers and two civilians were butchered by an unknown gang. They were discovered not three days ago, all of them slaughtered."

"God save their souls." The mother superior said, making a cross over herself. The doctor followed suit. I sat up slowly, but somehow suddenly. The mother saw me and brought a hand to her mouth, gasping. The doctor turned, the shock registering on his face. I look at each of their faces individually, _really_ looking at them.

"Every one of them?" I ask, my voice like sandpaper. "Not one survivor?"

"N-no, mademoiselle." The doctor stammered. "None of the men lived."

I stare at the gray of the stone wall, I see every stone, I see every crack, I see them all and I'm crying and I'm screaming but I'm still, I'm still not feeling anything. And Mother Ascension and the doctor are holding me, saying things. But it doesn't matter. None of it matters now.


	13. Chapter 13

**I don't own Les Miserables.**

**New twitter name: .woods**

**Read my other stuff. Please.**

CHAPTER 13

The convent has a small garden to the side of the building, kept up by Sister Rapture, who is actually Mother Ascension's sister. She is old and bent, her gentle hands curled by arthritis. Her eyes are glassy and her skin sags, but she moves among her lilies and her primroses with such joy, it touches my heart.

I'm able to walk. I can't remember when I got out of the bed the first time, when I took that first step. It seems so long ago, it seems like a lifetime. I'm able to eat now. The sisters mainly eat hardy bread and plain broth, but because I have not taken their oath, the cook, a sturdy women named Renee who is not allowed to become a full sister because she was married before she entered the convent, and I sometimes eat meat and fruit donated by patrons. I told the sisters my name and that I'm a virgin, for logistics. Other than that, they know nothing of me.

Every day, I explore more of the small stone convent. The sisters seem so much better than me, starting the day with their singing and praying, speaking in a language that I don't understand yet at the same time, it says everything I need it to. Sister Nativity says it's Latin, but I've never heard of it before. Cameron would know it, probably. He was so smart. As the sisters do their prayers and listen to a sermon preached by Father Rousseau, an old man with a mane of white hair, I sit in the farthest pew from the front, there out of obligation and politeness, in awe of the beauty of the chapel.

Then, after prayers, the sisters each have their duties. Mother Ascension, reading her books and ministering to the other sisters. Apparently this means something different to them, for the mother superior will spend hours in prayer with a sister, in "need" of it. Sister Magdalene, with her beautiful red hair kept hidden by her habit and her smooth, round face shining, and Sister Hope, an excited girl no older than fourteen with crooked teeth, clean the convent and the clothes, help Renee cook, tend to the sick in the infirmary. I help these two most of the time, keeping silent mostly. Sister Hope is still in the age where she can be talkative for hours and Sister Magdalene, in subtle vanity, can remain aloof and proud for just as long.

Sister Nativity runs the infirmary and Sister Rapture, at her age, can only take care of the gardens and say her prayers before she gets weak. Ever since the first day, Sister Nativity has been pouring love into me, filling me with something that I've never had before. No, I've had love before. But that was never love just _because_, not from some emotion or obligation. Sister Nativity loves me simply because she is so full of love itself, she simply has to give it to someone else.

But everyday, I carry the weight of Cameron around. He's always there, laying against me. I shift his weight from shoulder to shoulder, handling the cumbersome load with silence. My back, my arms, my soul aches from it. At night, he is in the bed next to me, his hazel eyes simply looking at me. It's only him and me and the regrets and I have to sit with them till dawn comes and I get up again. Nights are the worst for me.

Now I am sitting in the infirmary, boiling sheets to rid them of pestilence with Sister Nativity. It is so hot, the steam scalding my skin, my arms aching from stirring the hot pot. But Sister Nativity, ever present and ever white and ever patient, smiles and goes through the work peacefully. She is different from the others, she does not look at me with thinly veiled curiosity. She does not whisper about me with the others behind my back. She does not, during prayer while I am faking, steal glances at me through the corners of her closed eyes. She does ask question designed to reveal my past. She judges me not.

I'm stirring the sheets, sweating in the heat, when Sister Nativity lays a hand on mine.

"Are you all right, Eponine?" I stop and realize thin tracks of coolness rest on my face. I am crying. I let go of the huge spoon and sit down on one of the cots, breathing heavily. The air, it's so hot, it's so hot and thick and I can't think.

Sister Nativity sits next to me, her hands taking mine in an instant. "Please, my child. Tell me what burdens your heart."

Sweet Sister Nativity, I think, shutting my eyes. Dear Sister, with your grand words. "How is it possible," I ask shakily. "To love someone so much, even when they're gone? How is it possible for your heart to love something that isn't even real any more?"

Sister Nativity is silent and I like that, I like the silence. Because silence doesn't try to understand, doesn't try and make _you _understand and doesn't try and make things better, it just sits and breathes. That's what silence does.

Then, Sister Nativity says, in a quiet, grave voice, "I wish to tell you something, Eponine. Something that I've never told another human being, not even the mother superior." I lean in, grateful the conversation has turned away from me. "You must never tell anyone this, _never_. I am sorry that I call you to deceive the others, and I will ask forgiveness for this sin, but it is the gravest of matters." I nod slowly, feeling something grip my stomach. Sister Nativity takes a deep breath, pulling her hands into her lap.

"Before I entered the convent," She says. "My name was Anna Maria. I lived in a small village a couple days journey from here." She looks down at her hands, clasped tight. "When I was your age, I met a boy named Wolfgang. He was wild and reckless, but he made me, he made me feel- alive. And I made him feel like something worthwhile. We," She coughs. "We were young and unwise. We did not wait for marriage to consummate our love. And we knew marriage would never come. My father was very rich and Wolfgang was a simple peddler. So we were lovers, doomed from the start."

"What happened?" I ask quietly.

"Wolfgang died in a carriage accident three weeks after we made love for the first time." Her voice is so tender, I almost cry out. "I found that I was with child a week after that. I kept it hidden for as long as I could, for I had no mother alive at that time and my father cared little for me. But eventually he found out and threw me out on the streets, forsaking me. I made my way to a town even farther from Montreuil-sur-mer, where I worked in a factory, claiming my husband had died soon after we married, which was not far from the truth for me. I gave birth soon after." Sister Nativity lets out a small cry and I reach over and place a gentle hand on her shoulder.

"I named her Ondine. Her eyes were so blue, like Wolfgang's. I did my best raising her, working as hard as I could. She never lacked for clothes or food. She was so sweet, wild like her father." I hear a smile on her voice but I feel the tension in her body growing. "I took her down to the river one spring. It had just rained and the river was rushing, but I thought I could keep an eye on her. Ondine was so troublesome, always wanting what she could not have. I kept telling her to come back from the deep water. I kept telling her and... And I look away for a moment and... And..." She's crying for real now and I pull her in for a hug, feeling her frail body shake with grief.

"They never found her body," She says, her voice muddled by my body. "I left the town soon after, for everything reminded me of her, of Ondine." She draws back, wiping away her tears. "I joined the covenant and the sisters, with-holding the truth of my story. I was twenty when Ondine died. I am fifty three now. And I am content with my position. But-" She grasps my hands tight. "But I still feel my love, my love for Wolfgang and Ondine, I still feel it every day." She smiles, her tears shimmering. "You remind me of them, both of them. So I can't help the love that pours from me to you. But that love, it only shows the reality of my love for Christ. It shows me that my love will never die, it will always live."

I can only nod dumbly, because I feel it, I feel my love, and I feel the love she speaks of and it's so real that I can't even speak. She hugs me tightly and, rising, leaves me to collect my thought. I pull the sheets out of the put, hang them to dry, and meander to the chapel.

I stand in the dark gold light, the painted scenes of the crucifixion and the ascension glowing dimly, the golden halos of the saints shining dully. I make my way down the aisle, as close to the altar as I can. I press myself against the gate that barres the outsiders from the holiest site. I grip the bars and I feel my sorrow well up in me, I feel it press against my throat and I feel it scream.

_Please_, I pray, I truly pray for the first time. _Please. I want to feel love again. I want to feel what Sister Nativity has, what they all have. I want feel... I want feel what Cameron has. Had. I want to know the truth, I want, I want..._

I am on my knees, pressed against the bars and weeping, when I hear, _Kyrie Eleison_.

I look up at the ceiling, smiling through my tears.


	14. Chapter 14

**I don't own Les Miserables.**

CHAPTER 14

The convent is different now. Not actually, all the stones are still worn down, grime in between them, the cots still stiff and uncomfortable, the blankets woolen and itchy, the air dank and still. But there's something. Something like light seeping through the cracks, music humming in the air. Something that wasn't there before. Or maybe it was, and I was just blind to it.

It surprising, how much I pray now. I pray unceasingly, constantly. Eternally. And it changes me. It changes the world. Or both. I don't know, I'm so confused sometimes, but I'm okay with that, I'm okay with not knowing.

I don't say anything about my conversion (which is the most awkward word in all history) to the nuns, but they all sense something in me. Sister Nativity's face is so fresh and so open and she lovingly takes hold of my hands at random points in the day. The others are only more smiling, they show more kindness. Slowly, over the course of my three week stay, I have become part of this convent.

But in the night, I still feel him. I still feel the weight of Cameron pressed up against my chest. Even in the afterlife, he's so heavy, he's so heavy on my heart.

_Please_, I'm able to mutter in a simple, baby-like prayer. _Please, take this weight from me. Take away this pain._

But He doesn't. Instead, each day, He makes me stronger and stronger. Till soon, I barely feel it.

Barely.

On the start of my fourth week, I make my decision, I make it despite the fear and despite everything that holds me back. On the start of my fourth week, I find myself standing in front of Mother Ascension, clasping my hands tightly behind my back, my plain frock itching my skin.

Mother Ascension peers up at me, her wizened face sharp with wisdom. "What can I do for you, my child?"

"Mother superior, I-" My lungs aren't working. They aren't and I try and force them to. "I wish to join the sisters in their vows."

Mother Ascension holds my gaze for an eternity, so much lurking in her deep brown gaze. Then, she rises and, despite the fact that she's two feet shorter than me, I feel her towering presence. I feel compelled and fall to my knees. She hobbles over and places a warm hand on my cheek.

"My child," She says, her raspy voice gentle. "I would be honored if you would join our ranks here." I smile so broadly, it hurts.

"But I cannot accept your offer."

It hurts more, letting that smile drop and shatter.

"B-But... Why?" I ask, uncomprehendingly. I harden instantly. "Is it because you don't know my past? Is it because I'm a stranger?" I start shaking beneath her. "Please, please, Mother, please, don't ask me to speak of it, I can't, it's simply to painful, but I swear, I swear I haven't-"

"It is not your past, my child." She motions for me to rise and has me rest in one of the chairs of her small office. Sitting next to me, she takes my hands. "Many of the sisters have chosen to keep their pasts secret." I think of Sister Nativity. Oh God, I simply want to be like her. Why can't I be like her? "It's simply..." She sighs. "Many would have us believe that we remain celibate because the love of a man and woman is sinful. That is not true. Our Lord created it for the love of a husband and his wife. We simply abstain to remain focused on our prayers." She looks deeply into my eyes. "And in you, I see so much love. I see so much capability to love."

"Then let me use that for Christ!" I beg.

"You do not have to become a nun to love the Lord." Mother Ascension smiles. "And, I simply feel..." She paused for a moment. "I simply feel that our God Almighty has a plan for you. I cannot say what, but I simply feel... Against letting you become one of us."

I don't cry, I simply stare at her, my mouth open and confused. She smiles sadly and pats my cheek. "Do not fret, my child." She says. "Allow me to pray about it for the next few days. I will give you my final answer then." She rises, hobbling back to her desk to her reading, dismissing me.

As I walk back to my quarters, I'm empty. I'm hollow. I am nothing. All my life, I at least had something. I had my hate, Marius, Cameron, now Christ. And now, as I offer myself up to Him, he shuns me and pushes me away.

_What do you want from me_? I ask angrily to the sky. It remains silent as ever. I enter my room, sitting on the edge of the bed, balling my fists in my hair and silently screaming. I'm so angry, so angry, furious, because nothing works, nothing ever works out.

I don't know when I stop, but I eventually find myself laying on my back in my bed, watching the patterns in the cracks of the ceiling dance. A knock on my door stirs me and it's Sister Hope, smiling shyly.

"I'm sorry, Eponine." She says. "But two of our patrons are here on a visit and I thought you might like to join us in greeting them." I can't find the energy to be excited, but I also can't find the energy to say no. So I'm walking down the corridors with her, quickly joined by Sister Magdalene.

"It's a married couple." Sister Hope says. "They are both very young, but very rich. Very _bourgeois_." She seems proud of the fact that she knows what that word means. "The madame is very beautiful, the most beautiful women I've ever seen."

"She is nothing remarkable." Sister Magdalene says, instantly confirming that she is. "But the monsieur is quite handsome, and very agreeable." She smiles mischievously. Sister Hope giggles like a school girl.

I say nothing, just follow them to the dining hall. The sisters line up, with me at the end, for the patrons wish to distribute personal gifts to each of them. I hardly notice as then enter, as the sisters gasp over the five francs they each are given. The young couple make their way down the line, the monsieur first.

"Here you go, Sister. A gift for you."

A lightning bolt hits me. I jerk into focus, looking deeply into the monsieur's face.

Marius.

Is it bad that I forgot what he looked like? Is it bad that I forgot what color his eyes were, how his hair swept across his forehead? But now, now I remember it all and it rushes back to me like a tsunami wave, it's too strong, it's too overwhelming.

He doesn't remember me.

There is no recognition in his blue eyes, none in his gentle mouth. He only holds the three francs out to me, held out in that broad, smooth hand of his, clad is beautiful blue cloth. His red hair, beautiful strawberry blonde red hair, so tidy, so different, but so the same. I put my hand on his, closing his fist for him.

"I don't want your money, sir." I say.

There's a flash of confusion, beautiful confusion, and then it hits him. He says my name, he says, "Eponine." And then we're on the ground clutching each other, Marius weeping with joy, me silent with shock. The sisters whisper amongst themselves, but I don't notice. I bury my face in Marius, reveling in the sweet scent of him, the warm feel of his arms. I remember, I remember everything.

Then, in the corner of my eye, I catch a glimpse of something green and golden. I pull my face from Marius' shoulder. It's a dress, a fine dress of green cloth with golden threads woven in it, pink rose designs speckling the skirt.

The dress is attached to a girl, and that girl is Cosette.


	15. Chapter 15

**I don't own Les Miserables**

CHAPTER 15

"You are quite beautiful, mademoiselle." A maid says as she fights a brush through my hair.

"Right." I mutter, gritting through the tearing pain in my scalp. I focus on the creases of pain in my reflection.

Marius and Cosette live in a mansion. Or perhaps a villa. I'm not sure about the distinction. But it's different from Javert's _palace_, it's not a large, not as imposing.. This place is warm, with soft tapestries and blankets and pillows and flowered upholstery. Bright yellows and blues and soft greens and light purples. Everything is beautiful. Everything is right.

After I found Marius at the convent, the move to his house was instantaneous. He would not hear of me staying with "strangers". My goodbyes to the sisters were brief and remorseful. Perhaps I'll come back one day. But I know, I know, I'll never be apart of the love that I wanted. As I walked out of the stone doorway, looking over my shoulder, I saw Sister Nativity, her face sad but full of _something_. Something that looked like light.

The carriage ride to Marius' home was as awkward as one would expect. Marius, brimming with joy, Cosette, confused by kind, and me, pensive with a sharp eye. Cosette is just as radiant as I remember. Her hair is like gold, braided elegantly and covered with a fine bonnet. Her green dress lays over her slim figure beautifully. Lace lines her neckline and her skin is luminous against it. Her face is flawless, and the worst part? I think that's just how she looks.

I laugh to myself at the irony. I remember Cosette as a child, so ugly and thin and dirty. Only her eyes were as beautiful as the rest of her is now. Her eyes, so big and blue and sad and full of emotion. But when I was a child, I remembered how stupid I thought she was, how much like a big eyed cow she looked like. Now, now look at her then look at me.

After a while, the maid manages to pass the brush through my hair easily and she gets me into a simple orange dress. It's finer than almost everything I've ever owned.

_Except for the dress Cameron gave you_, I think bitterly. Yes. Except for that one.

After tightening my bodice till I feel like my ribs will collapse, She sits me in front of the mirror again and works pigments into my face. My skin is so darkened from years in the streets and the sun that most blushes look alien on me, but she manages to find the right shade to cover the strange hollows of my face from the weight I've lost in the last few weeks. She paints my lips a lively pink, lining my eyes with black ink. She braids my hair elaborately over one ear and lets the heavy braid rest over my shoulder. She steps out of my vision and I gasp.

The girl in front of me is not me. She is pretty and normal and she has a family and has suitors and has a dowry and knows how to play the harpsichord and can embroider. This girl is strange and distant. This is a girl who lives in Marius' world. This is a girl like Marius.

I touch my braided hair and it feels soft as corn silk. I smile and the girl in the mirror is smiling beautifully, knowingly. This scares me and I shudder.

The maid leaves and I explore the grand room Cosette has put me in. It's lavender, with highlights of goldenrod and it's beautiful. The bed is the size of an entire carriage and when I lay on it, the mattress is soft and fluffy like a cloud beneath my back. I run my hands over the embroidered pillows and the bumpy softness feels nice on my fingertips. I get up and explore the cabinet, full of gently colored gowns. Some are made of simple muslin and chiffon, others bold with silk and fabrics I don't even know. Now I'm simply walking the area of the room, running my hands over the fine wood of the furniture and the plush curtains and the smooth walls.

I feel out of place, as one would expect.

The dress feels like a prison, a strange prison that I don't understand. The room is so expensive, so nice, that it disgusts me. My entire family could work till the day they died and they would never get enough money to afford even the bed. And Marius did nothing for all this, he was simply _born_. In a flash of cynicism, I laugh at how they must pretty up the peasant girl before _officially_ welcoming her into their presence.

As soon as I think that, I regret it. If I _did_ have this money, I would spend it, probably not a wisely as Marius has. I would be wasteful and stupid. And I certainly would never give any of it away, as Marius has done and is doing. Still, I'm just so angry at everything and it's beauty.

_Cameron wouldn't live like this_, I think. _Cameron wouldn't like the grandeur_. No. No, he would not.

A maid summons me for dinner, which begs the question why I must be summoned. I follow her meekly through the wooden halls, keeping my eyes on the elaborate carpets underfoot.

In the private dining hall (they have _two_ dining rooms?), a small oak table sits, complete with complicated china. The walls are barren, but the cabinets are laden with flowers. Their thick scent is almost cloying, but not quite.

Cosette is waiting for me, still in her green and gold dress. I expect her reception to be cold and icy and I'm promptly disappointed. She rises and rushes to wrap me in a hug. Her delicate body is soft and warm. I can barely acknowledge the hug, I'm so shocked.

"I'm so pleased you're here with us." She says, her voice as angelic as I thought it would be. "Marius has told me all you've done for him, for _us_, and I know we will always be in your debt." She smiles sweetly and guides me to my seat.

_He hasn't told you everything_, I think dully. For what reasons, I can't be sure. Cosette asks me simple questions, how was my stay at the covenant, did I find my rooms acceptable, was my maid helpful. I notice shrewdly how she doesn't question me about what led me here and wonder if this is from some calculating cunning or from simply kindness.

Marius joins us and I expect to feel the knife in my heart. I don't. He's the same, just as bright, just as endearing and kind and intelligent, just as amiable. But the wound on my heart, that's different. I'm different. It _does_ hurt, though, when he embraces Cosette in such a tender embrace, love fills the room. But it only hurts because I don't have that love.

I almost laugh. I've nearly died three times for this boy and when I finally find him, I'm not able to love him.

We have a pleasant meal that I can't remember. Afterward, we retire to the sitting room where the maid pours glasses of wine for us and Marius begins to ask deeper questions. How did I survive, how did I come here, was my father following me. All of these questions somehow find their way back to Cameron and that's when the pain comes back, the pain comes back in all it's glory.

"I had a friend." I manage, clutching my heart, nearly shattering my glass. Cosette lays a concerned hand on my shoulder. "His name was Cameron Russel."

"What happened?" Marius asks, his eyes soft with careful curiosity.

"I lost him."

**Okay, guys, I'm having a premonition of 1-2 more chapters, which is a lot less than I was originally planning on, but whatever. Read my other stuff, and expect a Doctor Who/Disney series coming up (I know, you just got really excited, didn't you?)**

**Thanks.**


	16. Chapter 16

**I don't own Les Miserables.**

CHAPTER 16

Embroidery is very vexing.

No one likes to tell you how much you prick you fingers and how you have to know the design and all these details that are rather pointless, but if you don't know them, well, they make a big difference.

Marius has business to attend to, which makes no sense to me, but I don't make these rules. Cosette takes me to the sitting room, all smiles and kindness, and teaches me to embroider, as best I can. Despite the fact that the result looks like a bloody mess, she is gentle and tells me it's beautiful.

The more I spend time with Cosette, the more I realize she's perfect. At least, for Marius. She's so giving and relenting and kind and soft and round and lovely and amiable and "genteel". And that's what Marius needs, beautiful, robust, chatty, kind, caring, protective, masculine Marius needs. And it's everything that I'll never be able to give to him.

And now that I'm here, now that I've been with Marius for five days, I realize that I don't love. Of course, he's resumed his position as one of my closest friends and he sees me, he _truly_ sees me. But it's nothing more. I realize that I was in love with the idea of Marius, the idea of Marius that grew angelic and perfect when he wasn't there, wasn't there beside me. It almost hurts, realizing that the hole in my heart, the bullet through my shoulder, that was all for someone who wasn't real. But the pain, the pain is real and the pain is even realer when Cameron's face comes into view.

"Ow!" This time I've really stuck myself. A few drops of blood spill onto the fabric and I stick my finger in my mouth to stop the bleeding.

"Don't worry," Cosette says, ever patient. "You'll get better."

"Maybe it's not my thing." I sigh in impatience. Cosette smiles and returns to her own elaborate work. The silence that rests between us could be awkward, but it feels easy to me. Like we're both just _breathing_, both just living.

Marius returns later in the day and we have a nice dinner. We return to the sitting room where I become distinctly aware of how much I hate _sitting_ and _reclining_. All of my days have been tedious, broken by brief spurts of pleasant conversations with Cosette and Marius. But it's all so stagnant, my life isn't moving.

We each go to our evening activities and I go for a stroll through the house. Yes, it's nice, but I become aware that it's a lot smaller and plainer than they could afford. I suppose Cosette has carried on the tradition of her beloved father that she speaks about so often to give all she can to the poor. I appreciate them even more for this, and hate my own greed. The more I think of it, the more I feel like I'm my father and I have to push that image away.

Walking down one hall, I come to a heavy oaken door and give it a firm push. Inside, Marius is reclining in a nice chair behind a huge desk with a huge window behind him looking over the heavily wooded hills. The walls are laden with books and papers are strewn across the desk. He shuts the book he's reading and smiles up at me.

"You've discovered my realm." He rises and I'm stunned by his slim beauty, but not in the way I once was. I smile in return.

"It's lovely." I gesture to the books in admiration.

"Yes, I drown myself in the works of others." He shrugs and I walk alongside the shelves, running my fingertips across the spines of the books, feeling the knowledge in them. I glance back at Marius, sheepish.

"Did I disturb you?" I ask bashful.

"No, it's only a pleasure read." He tossed the book on the desk and walked beside me, his arms clasped behind his back. "You've been restless the past few days." He observes.

"I'm sorry for intruding on your hospitality."

"No, no. You must feel welcome here." Marius stops and looks out his window. "Cosette has been speaking to me the past few days. She truly sees you as a sister." I pause, thinking.

"She doesn't know everything." I muse. Marius is silent for a moment. "No," He says. "No, she does not."

"Why haven't you told her?" I ask, quiet and broken. Marius scoffs and I cringe.

"What am I suppose to say?" He responds. "That I... I-"

"You had a girl who fell madly in love with you, but who you could not love back because of her and that girl kept you from her and then died trying to protect you on the barricade, but didn't really die, and is now living in your home?"

Marius nods. "Yes, I suppose I could say that. But how would you react to that?"

"Badly." I smile. We're standing close now, close enough for me to feel the heat of his arms and remembering how I wanted those arms around me. But now I can just look at him and I can just, I can just really _see_ him. Like he always had seen me. I smile at him and he glances at me through the corner of his eyes.

"Don't worry." I comfort him. "I'm not in love with you."

He blushes, in such a beautifully Marius way. "No, you're not. But you are in love."

I sigh, looking back out the window. "So I've been told."

"With this Cameron fellow."

I feel the pain this time, feel it so sharp and so bright that I groan and cringe away. Strange, feeling this pain and not feeling it towards Marius. But the pain is so real, realer than real. Marius is hugging me now, trying to comfort me, and only making it worse because I want him to be Cameron and I just start crying, but I try not to cry to much, because I have too much pain in my life to waste all my tears now.

"It's alright. It's alright, Eponine." He rubs my back gently, and I wipe away my tears on his lovely black coat. I lift up my head, looking into his blue eyes, his gentle blue eyes.

"You are my sister." He says, softly. "And I want you to feel welcome here. I want this to be your home."

I only smile and pull him in tighter.


	17. Chapter 17

**I don't own Les Miserables.**

**Okay guys, getting real close to the end!**

CHAPTER 17

The next day, Marius takes us into town. We stop by the covenant first, for them to give the sisters their money and for me to say hello. Sister Nativity holds my hands tightly, looking deeply into my eyes.

"How are you, Eponine?" She asks.

"I am well, Sister." _I am horrible_, I think. But she sees that, she sees inside me, and she only smiles sadly and embraces me.

"We miss you." She whispers into my hair. "We all do. You brought new life to this place."

I squeeze her tightly. "I wish I could stay." I almost weep.

"No," She pulls back and gently brushes a few stray strands of hair from my forehead. "No, the Lord has better things for you."

_No,_ I think. _The only thing better than this is dead and gone. I have nothing now._

The other sisters are kind and welcoming, but they have already withdrawn from me. I have left them, now they have slowly left me.

We leave the convent, me feeling even emptier, and Marius takes us into the market to explore. Cosette walks with me, arm linked in mine, and freely gives out francs to the poor on the street.

"My father use to live here." She says easily. "He use to run a factory, he cleaned up this town." Her brow creases as she sees a few prostitutes, diseased and powdered, on the corner, surrounded by seedy men. The old, the sick, and the deformed lay on the cold, damp sidewalks, bony hands extended for handouts. "I believe it has changed a great deal since he left."

We keep walking, keep handing out money. The air is cold, but the warm, thick dress around me keeps my body warm. I don't look at the people, don't interact with them like Cosette and Marius do. I simply keep walking, my steps slow and languid. I realize that it's been over a month since Cameron was killed by the hands of my father. It kills me a little, but I push the pain down.

"Come," Marius puts his hand on Cosette's back, turning us down one street. "You can see the sea at the docks."

"Aren't the docks quite unsavory, my dear?" Cosette looks up at him in distress.

"Most are." He nods. "But this one is owned entirely by a foreign company, who is headed by a man who is strict with what goes on at his docks." Marius puts an arm over her shoulders and smiles. "He reminds me of your father."

Cosette lets go of my arms and pulls herself into Marius, their love glowing. Maybe I feel a little awkward, walking as the third wheel beside them, but I don't feel it that badly.

The sea is cold and gray, frothing against the wooden docks angrily. There are about five ships docked, all of them bustling with burly men. Shouts echo over the waves, ropes and bags tossed into the air. The wind is salty and tangy in my lungs and it stings my face with the foam of the sea. I find myself smiling and I don't understand.

"It's frightening." Cosette pulls herself closer to Marius. He says something, but I don't hear it. But I don't think the sea is scary. Or, if it is, then maybe it's scared of itself, of it's own power, of it's own strength. And maybe it's so full of it's own pain and so full of it's own bright confusion, that it can only throw itself against the land as hard as it can, then creep back down into the abyss, scared of itself again.

"I want to explore some of these shops, give me a moment." Cosette pulls herself from Marius and walks into one of the run down stores. Marius stands next to me, grinning.

"It's brilliant, isn't it?" I smile and nod.

"I've made my decision." I start, having to shout a bit over the waves. "About where I should stay." Marius stays silent, waiting. I take a breath and face him.

"If you'll have me," I say. "I'd like to stay with you and Cosette. My family." Marius smiles, his eyes shining. He pulls me into a hug and I can feel a little burst of happiness in my chest.

"Look." He turns me around and points to one of the ships. "It's setting off."

The ship is huge and brown, like a bird about to take flight. It's great sails are taunt in the wind, almost _pulling_ the ship. The crew is rushing along the deck, their voices getting distinctly quieter. One stands at the back, resting on the railing. I don't know for sure, but the way he is turned, I know his eyes are burning into me.

I stop breathing.

"It can't be..."

And now I'm walking away from Marius, hesitant at first, scared. Marius makes a soft cry, but I ignore him. He reaches for my hand, but I pull away. My dress is blowing in the wind and now I'm running, running as fast as I can. The ship is moving, moving so much faster than I need it to. When I reach the end of the dock, it's out. But now I know. I know the man by the rails. I know the man with curly brown hair and eyes that lock on me.

"Lass, what are you doing?"

"Get out of here, girl!"

"Eponine! What are you-"

I dive in. The water is so shockingly cold, it's like my skin is burning. I gasp for air, but the waves crash over my head. _Move_, Cameron's voice comes quietly. I kick my legs as fiercely as I can. My dress is like lead, but I have to move, Cameron told me to move, I have to move. I paddle my arms awkwardly, quickly. The ship still moves, but slower, and it's bigger. The crew cries out when they see me and send down a boat, a tiny thing that rocks in the water. But my dress, it's so heavy, my lungs, they hurt so much and I'm trying to breath but it's like I can't, like there's nothing to breath and then I realize that it's water, water all around me, and the ocean, the poor, misunderstood ocean is pulling me down gently. And eventually, I don't have anything left in me to fight back and I let go. I let go.

Something solid wraps around me and the water rushes and then there's something like air that is glorious and painful. The sailors toss me into the floor of the boat. I'm gasping, coughing up water that burns my throat. My body is turned to ice in the air and one of the sailors toss a coarse blanket over me.

"Girl," One says gruffly. "Have you gone mad?" I say nothing. They row us back to the ship slowly, fighting the waves. When we reach the ship, they toss down ropes and haul up the ship. It's a little terrifying, feeling like I'm flying, but I allow it. A sailor pulls me onto the solid ground of the deck. Well, mostly solid. The constant rocking is a little disorienting, but I allow it. My breath has slowly made it's way back to me, but when I see Cameron, it's gone again.

He's different, his hair tossed by the wind and his skin pale in the cold air. But there are deep bags under his eyes, crutch under his left arm, his clothes messy and wrinkled. His face is cold and hard, so different. So different.

"You're not dead." He says after a moment. His voice, God, thank you for giving his voice back to me.

"No." I manage. "No, I am not." He nods stiffly. "Neither are you." He stares into me for a while, not speaking. The crew goes about their work around us, ignoring us mostly. He turns around deliberately.

"Head back to shore." He says to the man holding the wheel. "We'll drop off the girl and then resume our course."

"Aye-aye, Captain."

"Cameron." I rush over to him, dripping across the deck. I grip his arms and he stiffens. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing." He says harshly. "I'm simply taking you back. To _him_." He jerks his head back to the shore, at the person with red hair who must be Marius. My heart drops.

"It's him, isn't?" He asks, his whisper furious. "It's him, this _Marius_ of yours. You know, Eponine, I'm happy for you. I'm happy, because now I know. Now I know how it felt to die for him. Because when I was bleeding out on that road, dying slowly, I was so happy because you got to live, I was happier than I ever had been before. And when these peasants came and rescued me and nursed me back to health, I knew, I knew how you felt, because I couldn't stop looking for you, I was so desperate. I looked everywhere, for weeks, for _weeks_. And then I realized, you must be dead. And I couldn't handle it, I couldn't deal with it. I had to leave, because everywhere I looked, you were there but you weren't, and it was driving me mad, _mad_. And now," His face contorts with pain. "Now, I realize you're not dead. You've found him You got everything you wanted."

"Oh, Cameron." He's so wrong, so wrong. I reach up to touch his face, but he grabs my hand with his hand that isn't gripping the crutch. He's hurting me, but I think he deserves to cause me a little pain.

"I'm giving you back to him." His voice is dead now. His eyes, they're teary and red and they make me ache. "I hope you're happy with him, Eponine. I really hope you are."

"Cameron," I say slowly. "Marius found Cosette." The shock that lights his face is actually quite beautiful. He stares at me dumbly.

"What?"

I smile, tears working down my cold cheeks. "He found Cosette before she left. Her father, he saved Marius from the barricade and brought him to her. And they married." I shake my head, laughing. "Marius is with Cosette. Look." I point to the shore. Cameron turns and sees Marius, clearer, with Cosette, her light pink dress looking like a sail in the wind. Cameron takes this in for a moment before turning to me slowly.

"I've just made quite an ass of myself, haven't I?" He asks.

"Yes." I nod. "But I think I can forgive you eventually." Cameron smiles, such happiness in that little smile, and he wraps his good arm around my waist and I appreciate his warmth.

"Will you marry me?" He asks. I'm a little shocked, but my body is so full of happiness that I just smile.

"Well, will you?"

"Of course, stupid." I smirk. "Though I doubt the life of a physician's wife is very glamorous."

"Right, ah, well," He looks a little sheepish. "I might not have told you my _entire_ story."

"What?"

"I may or may not own this ship... And the company that owns all the ships in this dock... And the dock, as well." I stare at him, dumbfounded.

"I thought you were a doctor." I say.

"By practice, yes. But, my father, well, he was very ambitious, and he eventually worked his way up to start his own company and, well, and his only son, so I may or may not have inherited everything. And you, Eponine," He looks deeply into my eyes, grinning. "You will be a very rich women in America."

"That doesn't matter to me." I put a hand on his cheek and pull him close to me, his breath warm on my face. "But if it did, how rich are we talking?"

Cameron laughs and kisses me deeply. And it's beautiful, because everything stops. The crew, the waves, the wind, the ship, my heart, the pain, the electricity that courses through my veins, it all stops and I can simply lose myself in my love for this stupid wonderful boy.

He pulls back softly, biting my lip playfully. I look into his eyes, full of happiness, and say, "We should get to shore." I look back to the two figures waiting on the shore. "There's some people I want you to meet."


	18. Chapter 18

**I don't own Les Miserables.**

CHAPTER 18

"This is the most critical situation we've ever come across." I say in a hushed voice, looking gravely at Cameron.

"I have no idea how to overcome this." He says, his eyes dark.

"There is one thing we can do." I suggest.

"ATTACK!" We shout in unison and rush under the table, lifting up the tablecloth and scaring the little children hiding under it. They scream at the top of their lungs and, in waves of laughter, they rush away as fast as they can. Cameron and I rest under the table, breathless.

Yes, I married Cameron and moved to America with him. It's actually incredible, how fairy tales come true. The trip over here was tedious, filled with rain and lessons. I insisted on learning English, for I would _not _be presented to a bunch of _Americans _and let myself look like a ruffian. And yes, we're kind of filthy rich. Cosette, scared of the continuing unrest in France, begged Marius to follow us, which he did a few months later. Marius joined Cameron as a business partner and helped make the business flourish. Cosette bore a daughter soon after the arrived, a beautiful blue eyed, golden haired girl who they named Fantine, after Cosette's mother. I thought maybe God had decided that maybe that wouldn't be the path for me. Then Jean came, beautiful little Jean. He has Cameron's face, his heart, but he has my eyes, the deliciously brown eyes.

Yes, Cameron talked about his uncle and Cosette talked about her father and we realized that the world is more intricately entangled than we will ever now. _That_ revelation brought a round of tears, by no means the first and by no means the last.

Cameron climbs out from under the table, offering his hand to help me out. I take it and, once we're both standing again and brushing off our clothes, he gives me a peck, a boyish smile, and goes roaring after the children.

I sigh, content. I follow after him slowly, appreciating the creak of the wood beneath my feet, knowing this home is mine and it will be for as long as I live. I run my hand along the banister as I make my way up the stairs, remembering sliding down it when I first got here, overjoyed at what I found. I hear the children in the playroom and I walk over, leaning against the door frame. They are clambering over Cameron, who pretends to be a great mountain. I smile and relax.

This new life hasn't been completely easy, no it hasn't. We live near a strange city called Boston. It's a bustling port city, full of life. It reminds me slightly of Paris, but there's something different. In Paris, there was a heavy blanket of oppression, of sadness, of _something_ over everything. That's not here.

I remember when we first got married, when Cameron and I were at a "ball" of some sort hosted by his obligatory business friends. One of the snootier wives commented on how Cameron had settled for a foreign slave trader's daughter. This cut me deep and I did not know why.

Cameron did some digging and he found that my father had become a successful merchant of human flesh, mostly in the southern states. This disgusted me even more, for Cameron had taught me all about the atrocities slavery had committed. Rumor had it that my mother had died and I found my heart heavier because of that fact. I prayed for her soul continuously for a while after. A few months ago, we heard that my father had been killed in a storm at sea. I could not find sorrow in my heart for him.

Jean and Fantine run past me, holding hands and sharing giggles like only children can. I smile as they run by and Cameron comes and stands next to me, trying to catch his breath.

"Well, Madame Russell," He says in French. "What's on your mind?"

"I'm simply delirious with happiness, Monsieur Russel." I say, smirking at him. "What about you?"

"I would be happy beyond measure as well- if you'd permit it." He leans over me, resting his arm just above my head. His eyes are still so beautiful, his face so lovely, and they're right here, right now, right in front of me.

"I'll permit it." I smile and kiss him softly. We let the moment last in it's beautiful entirety. Then, we hear shouts of joy as the door opens and Cosette and Marius return from the city. We pull apart and, smiling, make our way downstairs, holding hands and feeling completely ready for everything.

**Wow, we're finished, guys. It seems weird finishing this story, because when I started it, I didn't have the same feeling behind it as the others. And now it's turned into something very nice that I feel good about. I want to thank everyone who read it and everything who reviewed it and I'm just really grateful for everything.**

**Stay gold,**

**-Roman**


	19. Playlist

**Alright guys, here's my playlist for "In the Rain"**

**Of course, I listened to the Les Miserables soundtrack non-stop while writing this, as well. But I assumed everyone would guess that.**

**And yes, it was the movie soundtrack. Don't judge.**

_Abraham's Daughter – Arcade Fire_

_My Body Is a Cage – Arcade Fire_

_When I Go – Brett Dennen_

_I Had Me a Girl – The Civil Wars_

_Same Old Same Old – The Civil Wars_

_Eavesdrop – The Civil Wars_

_Devil's Backbone – The Civil Wars_

_Disarm – The Civil Wars_

_Sacred Heart – The Civil Wars_

_Landfill – Daughter_

_Boy – Emma Louise_

_Thinking of You – Katy Perry_

_Uprising – Muse_

_All I Wanted – Paramore_

_Turn to White – She & Him_


End file.
